A Walk in the Park
by Serenitychan13
Summary: Captain Steve Rogers has an off-day and decides to enjoy his day out in NYC. A trip to the Central Park Zoo, a walk through the park... And then his good guy complex gets the better of him when he finds something unexpected on a park bench. He brings it home, to a world of unexpected problems - including a potential epidemic! Rated for possible psychological triggers.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **_**Marvel is not mine. Avengers is not mine. If you think it is, please get therapy… Yes, I'm a snarky writer. I love you all, my sweeties! But yeah, not mine, so don't sue me!**_

Prologue

Captain Steve Rogers felt as close as he could like he was home. He'd been back in New York City for a while. SHIELD, of course, had him provided with an apartment, furnished and all in the style familiar to him. When he woke up that morning, he realized he needed to grab a few things at the store. It was almost November. It had been coming for a while, windy during the day and getting threateningly cold at night. He got out of bed and headed for the shower.

So he went through his normal routine. He hadn't ever gotten out of the habit of getting fully dressed before sitting down to breakfast. Studying the paper during breakfast, he saw a special listing for an event at the Central Park Zoo. He looked out the window at the sun shining out of a blue sky on a gorgeous day. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured today couldn't be a bad one for a walk.

Downing the rest of his Cheerios and the other half of his orange juice, he looked around, found his bomber jacket, and headed out the door.

* * *

There had been a blessed event at the Central Park Zoo – the large female snow leopard had birthed twins. Today would be the first day they would join their mother on display for the general public. Steve had never really been an animal person beyond the usual family dog. But seeing those two little gray fluffballs with their bright blue eyes tumbling around… He absolutely couldn't help standing about with the rest of the crowd going "ooh" and "aww!"

The seal tank was the only bit of the zoo that looked anything like how he remembered it. Even that had been cleaned up quite a bit, and now the sign on the side of the tank said "sea lions." Just a little while ago, he hadn't really known there was a difference. One of them in particular sat up on the big rocks, basking in the autumn sun. Steve found himself very reminded of Tony Stark, laughing as he turned away to go look at the penguins.

At the bottom edge of the tank, the viewing portion, were several small children and a couple in their twenties. The young lady had her hand pressed against the glass, looking at the fella with a sassy grin. Steve watched the guy put his hand to the glass as well. Out of curiosity, he touched the glass himself, yanking his hand back at how cold it turned out to be! Soon, the children surrounding the couple all looked at each other and joined in the competition. On the inside, the penguins watched the people in curiosity.

Next up, he came to the polar bears. Now this he had never seen before. He only remembered bears in the circus and they were never this… silly. The two in the enclosure seemed to be a mother and baby. The baby bear had his behind pressed up against the glass. As he scooted his backside up and down, he looked back there as if confused about why it still itched! After a while, the mother cuffed the small one about the head. She leaned down and nudged him over to a rocky little outcrop to show him how things were done. Steve couldn't help laughing at that one either.

After a while, a group that seemed to be a school group moved in on his chosen path. Not really in the mood to deal with a load of ill-behaved schoolchildren, Steve decided to vacate the area. He passed by, however, one of the strangest creatures he figured he'd ever seen. The sign on the side of the little aviary said this thing was called a "kakapo." At first, he had to tilt his head to make sure he was really seeing it. Bigger than a football, violently green, very, incredibly fat, it was a bird – a parrot to be exact! And it had the funniest little face, almost like a kitten in a large bird's body.

Shaking his head, he turned and headed for the exit with the kakapo bellowing after him, apparently excited by something. So, on he went, through the exit gate, past the young lady calling "Have a nice day!" Central Park opened up in brilliant color before him. He picked a path lined with glowing maple trees and started down it, his hands in his pockets and his red scarf up around his neck.

Up ahead, he saw a hot dog stand and his stomach growled.

* * *

The New York City autumn left nothing to be desired. Brilliant colors, a lovely breeze, and the sedate pace of an unhurried crowd… Steve had always been fond of that. Central Park had always been the one place where not everyone and their brother seemed to be in a constant hurry. For a good long time, he had settled on a park bench, just watching people go by. It still boggled his mind how much fashions had changed. Would he ever get used to it? Particularly the ladies' clothing…

Some people went by with dogs – a large, fluffy sheepdog stopped to sniff his knee and snuffle at him. Many couples went by holding hands. It wasn't quite time to cause mischief yet, but he'd heard people talking about Halloween. One girl screamed that she did _not _want to be Snow White. A crowd of nicely-dressed young ladies went by, speaking loudly of a coming party. Steve wondered if it might be the costumed soiree he'd gotten an invite to. Stark likely had another over-the-top showpiece in mind.

He got up and headed for his favorite fountain. It had always been a great place to watch the sun go down. Sighing a bit, more out of contentment than anything else, he leaned on the wrought-iron railing. The sun slowly descended over the New York City skyline. In the lavender bit of the eastern sky, tiny white star-dots appeared. The evening crowd had started to thin out, presumably to crowd into every eating establishment in the city. Steve hadn't really been hungry since that hot dog in the afternoon.

But he did push himself up off the railing and turn down another trail. He felt the urge to wander, just to be alone with his thoughts for a while. Oddly enough, he couldn't exactly put his finger on what he wanted to think about. But the park had always been equally beautiful at night. As long as he left before too terribly long, he'd probably avoid the crowd who caused trouble. He continued on down the trail, seeing no one in the immediate vicinity.

But then, twenty minutes later… He heard a deep, short, sharp noise. What was that? A golden mutt on a dirty blue leash sat next to one of the most forlorn-looking people Steve had ever seen. He wouldn't have stopped if she hadn't looked so young. His unavoidable "good guy complex" kicked in and he approached the rickety park bench. The girl didn't pick her head up off her curled-up knee.

"Hey… hey, miss?" he called, tilting his head see her face. A load of dark, dark brown hair obscured his view. "Miss? I need you to answer me – are you okay?"

She startled visibly, but she lifted her head to stare at him with haunted golden-green eyes. They looked very much like the front of a magazine cover Director Fury had given him… an Afghan girl. But this girl didn't quite look Arabic. She did have olive skin, but it had paled from lack of sun exposure. She did not look happy at his presence, tilting her head and narrowing those eyes. The dog seemed to tense beside her.

"You a cop?" she demanded, her voice a bit raspy.

He shook his head and stuck his hand out as a sign of good faith.

"No, ma'am, not a cop," he told her. "Just saw you and got a little worried. Can you tell me what you're doing out here?"

She continued scrutinizing him – he put his hand down.

"Why?" she asked, her voice still rough. The dog bristled at him. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

He nodded, keeping his responses careful.

"No, you've got every right to be here, I know that," he agreed with her. "Just concerned, that's all."

The girl looked up at him and seemed to find nothing worthy of distrust in his face.

"Mind if I have a seat?" He gestured to the place beside her on the bench. She nodded at the place, giving her consent. The dog calmed down a bit. "You look like something's on your mind. Where're you from?"

She continued to stare at him, as if trying to find some reason to run away.

"Georgia," she said shortly, rubbing the dog behind one ear.

Steve nodded, looking the girl up and down. She wore a lavender shirt with a beaten-up Hello Kitty logo on the front of it. He had never understood the 'skinny jeans' thing, nor why she wore a pair of bright pink ones. On her feet was a pair of worn gray sneakers with wide purple shoelaces. Having whacked the sleeves off of her black hooded sweatshirt left her shivering. Beside her and the dog sat a hunter-green bag with Mickey Mouse on the side.

"I knew a girl in Georgia once," he told her. This seemed to win him some points, because for the first time, she smiled at him. Then she coughed. "So, tell me, how old are you?"

And the smile vanished, the look of distrust firmly back in place as she scooted away from him on the bench.

"I'm twenty-five," she said, a little too quickly.

Steve smiled, but he did raise an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, really I'm twenty-one," she corrected herself, smiling at him through slightly scruffy, self-cut bangs.

Good-natured smile still in place, Steve looked her over again.

"Really?" he said, acting surprised. "For a gal who's both twenty-five and twenty-one, you look awfully sixteen to me."

And her cheeks turned flaming red – even the dog looked as if he had been caught for something.

"Okay, fine, I'm eighteen," she ground out.

He shook his head, the smile not leaving his face.

"… next month," she acquiesced.

Steve's smile widened and he re-offered his handshake.

"So, what's your name?" the girl asked him as she shook his hand.

Steve gave her his best military handshake.

"Captain Steve Rogers," he told her. "U.S. Army, not a cop."

Her golden-green eyes lit up, chasing out the distrust of him introducing himself as a captain.

"I'm Angel," she told him. "Angel Odell."

She and Steve dropped hands and he stood up.

"Well, I really should call the police so they can get hold of your parents," he informed her – immediately, her hand went into her giant purple bag. "But relax, I'm not going to do that."

Angel stared at him with her eyes narrowed once again.

"So what _are _you going to do?" she inquired, keeping her hand inside the dirty lavender messenger bag. Her key-chains rattled. "I really should go find a hotel room or something."

Steve shook his head. The wind picked up. A few pattering sounds told him it had started to rain and it would reach them soon with the wind. Angel tried to pull her useless hoodie closer around herself. The dog curled up on the ground.

"Under the circumstances, I think it'd be safer if you came back with me," he told her, taking off his jacket and draping it on her shoulders. "You can bring your friend."

She dropped the jacket on the bench, looking pale.

"No, I really would rather not…" she snapped.

Steve picked the jacket up and firmly put it back on her.

"Angel, I promise," he insisted. "I won't hurt you."

She got up, still studying him.

"So long as I don't have to go back…"


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_**I don't own any of the Avengers! I do not own Marvel or… let me see… much of anything else. Angel Odell is mine, though. She's just a little OC, so if you don't like, don't read. If you want to use her, please ask me. But the 'real stuff' – yeah, not mine.**_

Chapter 1

They got back to the apartment – Steve, Angel Odell, and the dog on the dirty blue leash. The entire walk had gone in silence. He didn't feel the need to talk and got the feeling she wouldn't have answered anyway. Although, he would have to get some information, that much he knew. For a girl to prefer going off with a strange man over going back to wherever she'd come from… Yeah, he'd have to get her talking eventually. She kept coughing occasionally on the walk, trying to hold it in.

"Well, here we are," he announced unnecessarily.

The dog bounded in, tongue hanging out and tail wagging happily – he apparently saw no problems with the new place. Angel, on the other hand, edged in as if she expected something to happen. And Steve could see where she came from on that – people did often take advantage of young ladies. But he helped her out of his jacket and she set her Mickey Mouse bag down. She actually smiled again, blushing this time, as he took her hand and seated her.

"You're welcome to the couch and a shower," he told her kindly. The dog hopped up on the couch and wormed between them. "There's Cokes in the refrigerator."

And at this, she brightened immensely.

"Really?" she squealed, all of a sudden quite childlike. "Real Coca-Cola in New York City? I 'bout had to throw a screaming fit at a guy who said he had Coke at his hot-dog stand and tried to hand me a dang Pepsi!"

Steve couldn't help laughing out loud at this – for a little thing, she certainly had some spunk.

"In the glass bottle and everything," he assured her, winking.

And Angel's cheeks turned the same color as a Co-Cola label. Then she started to cough again. Before he could ask her if she was all right, she swallowed hard to force the cough back. The dog, turning so that his behind nearly pushed Steve off the couch, licked the girl's face, looking as concerned as a dog could. She grinned and returned the dog to the floor. Steve, on the other hand, had turned very serious.

"Okay, I promised I wouldn't call the police," he reminded her. For a moment, she looked terrified, so he continued. "And I'm not going to. But, if you're going to be here, even overnight, I need to know a couple things."

Immediately, Angel looked as if Steve had threatened her. She crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest. Biting into her lip, she stared at a knot in the hardwood floor. The dog whined and rammed his head against her knees, his tail still going. Steve turned to Angel and put one massive hand on her shoulder – when she flinched, she started to cough again.

"Angel… calm down, nobody's going to hurt you," he assured her once again. "I just need you to be honest with me."

She looked at him with a hard expression.

"What all d'you need?" she asked, still petting her giant dog.

He reached out his other hand and joined her in paying attention to the large golden dog. It wagged its tail more.

"For starters, how did you get here?" he began, finding the place that made the dog start kicking one foot round in mad circles. "It can't be easy to travel with your friend here."

Angel looked down at the dog with an almost maternal shine to her eyes.

"Mom and Dad didn't want me to keep him," she said softly. "They said nice girls don't keep pit bull dogs."

She pronounced "dogs" as "dawgs," much to Steve's amusement – but the term she used sort of confused him.

"What's a pit bull?" he had to ask. The dog in front of him looked like something out of a Rockwell painting – gold coat, big brown eyes, wet nose, wagging tail. "Is it bad?"

Angel all of a sudden looked very angry – she coughed until Steve thumped her one good time on the back.

"No, not if you treat them right," she said, continuing to look only at the dog. "There's some people out there… real fucktards… They fight 'em. It's the only thing I think people should be shot for."

Nodding, Steve decided not to press the issue – if she was ready to start talking, this might be a good gateway to it.

"But either way… I had a few problems at home," she said softly, still looking away. "I didn't mean anything by it…"

Steve's hand tightened on her shoulder, holding her as she started to cough again – the sound turned wet and gut-wrenching.

"You can take it slow," he assured her, moving her long sable hair out of the way so he could stroke her back. "What kind of problems did you have?"

Angel started to cry softly, her spine seeming to vibrate under the weight of his hand. Steve wasn't really sure what to do now – he'd never known what to do when a lady started crying! Two soft thuds announced Angel scuffing off her sneakers, both of them landing on the floor. The dog sniffed them momentarily, but then looked back at the girl.

"They were going to send me away…" she barely whispered. Her entire body shook. "Some doctors said I wasn't normal, so Mom and Dad were going to send me someplace… you know? Like a home for troubled girls?"

Steve nodded – he seemed to remember talk in the neighborhood way back when, about a little girl who just… went away – and let her talk.

"And since they didn't want him anyway," she indicated the dog with one hand. "They were going to get rid of him."

The dog thumped his tail on the floor, drooling and doggy-grinning at both of them.

"Well, if you don't mind my saying, you seem like a nice girl," Steve told her, keeping his tone careful. "Do you have any problems telling me what the issue was?"

Angel looked off down the hall, as if trying to locate something – the dog pawed at her, apparently unused to being ignored.

"I… see stuff," she said quietly, her eyes focused on something way away from this apartment. "Like… stuff that they told me wasn't there… There was this guy – I saw him all the time. I don't think he was human."

If he hadn't seen some of the things he had, Steve might have thought this girl's parents' hearts to be in the right place. But he did unfortunately know from experience that stranger things happened than teenage girls seeing things. He tried to steady her a little so that she could continue. For some reason, she looked dangerously close to falling off the couch.

"What'd he look like?" he finally asked out of morbid curiosity.

Even the dog gave him a dirty look and he wondered what kind of doctor removed feet from mouth – but Angel shrugged.

"Weasely-lookin' guy… Longish black hair, it'd look better if he washed it," she went on. "I try to recall, it's like his face goes away. But his upper lip disappears when he smiles. Mostly I'd see him in my shower."

Steve tried as hard as he could not to look at this girl like he thought she might really _be _a nutcase.

"Your… shower?" he finally repeated back to her.

Her eyes turned hard again.

"You think I'm crazy too," she stated flatly, tears still on her face though she was no longer crying.

Now Steve had to scramble – he had this _thing _about making women angry, even seventeen-year-old ones.

"Nah, you're not crazy," he assured her. "I… um… Well, I'm sure people see stuff out the corners of their eyes all the time."

He looked her up and down, fishing around for some way to connect this to her without once more contracting foot-in-mouth disease.

"Maybe most people are quieter about it?" he offered lamely, poking her knee and indicating her ridiculously loud trousers.

This time, Angel looked at him like she thought _he _had problems, but after she scrunched up her nose and shook her head, she spoke.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" she asked, before announcing, "Bad!"

This, mercifully, broke the tension and the both of them were able to laugh for a good long moment.

"But seriously," Angel cut in, looking up at Steve like he might be able to fix things – he guessed he had that look about him. "You don't think that's enough to put somebody away in a home over, do you?"

Steve shook his head – it sounded more like a case of parent/teenage girl disagreement to him.

"Well, how long have you been seeing this stuff?" he asked, trying to be offhand about it in case she started crying again.

This time Angel looked away, going quiet for a while.

"All my life," she finally told him. "And it's not just that guy… It's been animals too – a giant wolf, a great big snake's head… even a horse with eight legs. This stuff doesn't _feel _like it's not real. Even if that stuff does make me crazy, I don't want to go away to a home…"

Okay, this stuff was well and truly out of Steve's league. He'd been through some shrinks at SHIELD. Of course, they'd made him go through a psych evaluation or two, just to make sure he wouldn't go postal. He made a mental note to see about putting in a call to that one guy… Max something – he'd been SHIELD's finest psychiatrist. What was his name? Oh yeah, Freedman… Maybe he'd be willing to meet up with her – off the books, of course.

When he looked back at Angel, she looked more terrified than ever. Ugh… he'd have to work on not _looking _like he was thinking. Rather awkwardly, he patted her on the back. He'd gotten himself into this mess, after all. No matter what the girl said, he _had _promised that he wouldn't get her in any more trouble. Ah, heck… It was getting late, so probably best to figure all that out in the morning. He petted her long brown hair, to which she sniffled in response.

"Hey, it's okay," he told her, not really sure what else to say. "How about you get some sleep and we'll work all this out, say… tomorrow?"

She looked at him a little funny, but he couldn't figure out exactly what the funny look was for. At this point in this little encounter, it could probably be anything. The dog hopped back up on the couch and planted himself firmly between Angel and Steve. Captain Rogers took this as his cue to get up.

"The bathroom's the first door on your right," he told her, pointing down the same hallway she'd been looking down.

This time, she smiled gratefully.

"You promise you won't look, right?" she said more than asked.

Steve looked affronted and the dog stared death at him.

"Miss, I wouldn't dream of it," he assured her, crossing the room and making for the hall. Then he looked back at her and told her, "Promise."

Angel looked satisfied by this and started fishing through her Mickey Mouse bag for something. The first thing that came out was a very old-looking brown teddy bear, followed by a yellow Polarfleece blanket. She set these almost reverently on Steve's blue calico couch, the surface of which lay covered in dog hair. Then she fished out a plastic grocery bag tied in a square knot at the top. Steve watched for only a moment longer before retreating into his bedroom. To prove he had no intention of wrongdoing, he shut and locked the door.

After patting the dog on the head, Angel clutched her toiletries to her chest and headed for the bathroom. Her furry buddy followed her to the door and, when she shut it, she heard him curl up outside. Turning round, she set her things down on the closed commode lid and worked the knot loose. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, bath poof, razor, shave gel – it was all there, thankfully. The shower itself was mercifully easy to turn on. Sometimes you couldn't tell if you had to push it, pull it, or twist it – whatever. It was like trying to play Bop-It just to get the damn water to turn on!

Making sure a second time that the lock had clicked, she finally turned to take her clothes off. She checked herself in the mirror. Hmm… Ugh – she was still a 36B. Hopefully she still had growing to do. One day she wanted to be able to wear strapless dresses! Being uncharacteristically neat – probably just being in a strange place – she folded her clothes and set them on the counter.

Before too long, she found the right water temperature, gave her reflection another once-over, and stepped in. She grabbed her shampoo and conditioner then firmly closed the shower curtain behind her. The trip up had taken three days' worth of driving. And with those people… yeah, there wasn't any place available that she would consider bathing or showering in. They'd been nice enough in that they hadn't molested or killed her, she guessed. And they _had _been good enough to let her bring the dog…

The shower came as a welcome break from, well… everything. She could forget everything in untangling and shampooing her hair. Conditioner had been her favorite part of taking a bath since she was a little girl. But that made her sad, so she refused to think about it for a while. She squirted body wash – honeysuckle-scented – into the bath poof, she realized the steam eased her cough. Ugh… This was _so _not the time to get sick.

"Okay, if I just don't notice it, it won't happen," she told herself sternly.

As if on cue, he throat tickled, but she forced it back, making her eyes water. She continued scrubbing the three days' worth of grime off herself. Her stomach growled. For the entire trip, she had been careful to see that her dog remained fed and properly hydrated, but failed to do the same for herself. Although, if she thought about it, this would be the first time she had _been _hungry… But she ignored the feeling and the sound and went on washing.

"I'll be out in a minute, baby boy!" she called, sticking her head out of the shower as she heard the dog whining outside the bathroom door.

* * *

Back in his room, Steve found himself sitting on the side of his bed and thinking rather hard. The rational part of his mind continued to tell him that he should call the police. Reconciling things with her parents really should be Angel's own business and he did feel terribly guilty for getting involved in the first place. On the other hand, he had made a promise. The way he had been raised, when you made a promise, you darn well kept it! Especially if you actually _said _the words "I promise" – and he had.

He wished he had someone to consult on the matter. Maybe he would go ahead and call that Freedman doctor in the morning. Whether the doc had an informal meeting with the girl or just gave Steve himself advice, it should be fine. But at the same time, Angel seemed like maybe she wouldn't react well. Upon further thought, Steve did find the thought felt a lot like deception. And it wasn't in his programming, before or after the Captain process, to lie.

For the moment, he decided, he would just see how the situation played out. With any luck, Angel and her parents would just work things out and she would go home and that would be that. But then… so far, when had he ever been in a situation where the best-case scenario actually _happened!_ Okay, there was that one day in Atlanta, but now was not the time to think about that. Well… yeah… right now, he figured on just letting the night pass. Hopefully, it'd be uneventful and she would calm down by morning.

He heard the shower turn off and several things go _bang_. Since he heard her cursing, he reckoned he should stay put. It was always more serious when people were quiet about their accidents… The swearing toned down and the bathroom door opened and shut. He could hear the dog clacking round on the wood floor. Again, he heard shouting – it sounded like Angel had fallen over the coffee table. That, it was probably safe to go and see about… He couldn't see a teenage girl sleeping in a stranger's living room in a state of indecency.

"You okay out there?" he asked as he turned the doorknob and emerged from his room. "I couldn't help hearing…"

She had somehow gotten herself stuck between the coffee table and sofa. On her backside, both legs sprawled across the surface of the table, back against the front of the couch… Okay, he had absolutely no idea how she managed that. The dog sat beside her, looking up at Steve with a great big doggy grin. Deciding not to ask, Steve reached down to extricate the teenager from… whatever she'd gotten herself into.

"Thanks for that – sorry about the noise," she said. Then she pointed at the dog. "I tripped over him."

Steve smiled and told her not to worry about it. But it was getting late, so he encouraged her to go on to sleep.

"If there's any trouble, I'm right down the hall – last door – all right?"

Angel smiled lopsidedly, shoving long wet curls out of her face. At that moment, Steve did notice that her hair fell all the way to her hips when wet. He stepped back and she settled down on the couch with the blanket and bear. The dog joined her.

"Good night, Angel," he told her.

"'night, Captain," she yawned back.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **_**Not mine. Don't sue. Seriously, I do not own anything Marvel or Marvel-related. Stan Lee and the Walt Disney Company have those well in hand. I just borrow things. I'll put them back eventually, I promise! Can't be sure they won't be satisfied, traumatized, or both!**_

Chapter 2

The next morning, Captain Steve Rogers awakened at 7:00 AM, just like he did every morning. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus again. Restful sleep had just not been a happening thing last night. He could tell he'd been out like a light for several hours, but it still felt like he hadn't slept at all. His head felt fuzzy on the inside, leaving him grumpy and disoriented. So he heaved himself out of bed and clunked into the bathroom. Not bothering with a towel after splashing water on himself, he proceeded to the kitchen.

"What the heck is wrong with this morning?" he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

He wanted a glass of milk and he wanted it right damn now.

So he thudded down the hall into the kitchen and had to remind himself not to break the hinges on the refrigerator door. Deciding not to bother with a glass, he grabbed the milk and twisted the top off. Realizing how very not-okay this would normally be, his mind said 'screw it' and he tilted the quart back. Yeah, that had been exactly what he needed. Then he heard something behind him.

"Eek!" shrieked a girl's voice and he almost sent the milk flying.

Steve turned around to see a very, very young-looking teenager standing in his kitchen, a worn brown teddy bear under one arm. A defensive-looking gold dog stood by her side. She seemed to be blushing from the roots of her hair to the dirty friendship bracelet on her left ankle. All of a sudden, Steve found himself _incredibly _aware of the boxer shorts he slept in. Of all things she had to see him in… Blue Mickey Mouse printed boxer shorts…

Without a word, Angel backed awkwardly out of the kitchen. Turning abruptly around, she retreated to the couch and turned the television on. With the Looney Tunes theme blaring too-loudly out of the speakers, she stared at the set. The dog continued to stare in both confusion and… was that disapproval? Steve felt more uncomfortable than he had in a long time. He killed another quick slug of milk, shoved the quart back in the 'fridge, and fell back to regroup. All the way back to his bedroom…

About half an hour later, Steve emerged from his bedroom, fully dressed and still trying to force his face back to its normal color. He had heard the bathroom door down the hall open and close. So naturally, he could assume that she had gotten dressed as well. The dog thumped happily through the apartment. It'd probably be time for him to go for a walk about now. When he came to the living room, he found Angel sitting on the couch, still watching the television.

She'd dispensed with the ridiculously-colored trousers today. This time, it was a sort pink-and-black plaid skirt and a blue shirt with a fluffy bear on it. What the heck was her issue with wearing sleeves? Under her skirt, she had very thick-knit black… were those stockings? Her gray sneakers remained on the floor. She looked up, but had a hard time meeting his eyes.

"'morning!" she chirped, her cheeks still very, very pink.

"Hey, uh… sorry about that," he sputtered before he could stop himself. "I um… I'm not really used to having people in here."

She returned to staring at the set – a crime drama of some sort.

"It's okay – I should've said something or whatever," she dismissed his apology, turning so that her hair obscured her face. Then her tone abruptly changed. "Is there a safe place for me to walk him?"

With one hand, she indicated the dog, which turned in a circle and wagged his tail, grinning round the entire room. Steve thought for a second. Heck, he wasn't even sure he was supposed to let her bring the dog! Well, Director Fury hadn't really said one way or the other… Plus, he really didn't intend for this to go on long enough for Director Fury to find out about it.

"Well, there's… Uh…" he trailed off. "I guess you had enough of Central Park yesterday, huh?"

Angel considered this for a moment, but then she hopped up off the couch and found her dog's leash.

"No, I actually would like to see more of it," she told him, fixing the leash on the dog's collar. The dog sat and looked up at her. "I'm not really sure where I was yesterday. I lost the map I got. Could you tell me where it is from here?"

She pulled on the dog's leash and headed towards the door. Steve blanched for a second, staring at her. Was this girl serious? She seriously intended to just take this dog and walk off into New York City? With very little idea of where she might even be going! Well, nothing about him would allow him to let this happen. He picked up his leather bomber jacket and shrugged into it.

"I can tell you on the way," he told her. "It's safer for you this way."

Angel scowled at him.

"It's not like I can't go by myself," she all but snapped, pulling the dog towards the door. "I'll be fine – back in an hour, 'kay?"

Steve frowned at this. Angel seemed pretty set on going out with the dog by herself, but his programming from day one simply wouldn't allow it. But when he opened his mouth to protest once more, she just rolled her eyes at him. An hour, he thought. Okay, really – there were a million things that _could _happen in an hour, but how _likely _was it?

"Okay, an hour," he agreed – he'd fight that battle another day. "But longer than that and I _will _come out there looking for you. So be careful out there, will you?"

She looked agreeable to this, made a noise of assent while fussing with the dog's collar, and then her hand was on the door.

* * *

Okay, it had been an hour and a half – Steve had decided to let her have that half hour. If she'd only gotten turned around, she could probably find her way back on her own – less embarrassing for her that way. But now he started to get worried. He pulled his jacket back on and headed out into the bright sun of a pretty fall day. It had gotten a lot colder overnight. Some of those clouds looked like they might be threatening snow.

He didn't see anybody else in the building on his way down. The elevator door jammed like it usually did, causing him to kick it sharply. With a heavy gratin noise, the door opened and he waved to the lobby receptionist. The handsome woman in her forties waved back, calling "'morning, Captain!"

"Good morning, Charlotte!" he returned out of habit, stepping out the front door of the building. "Oh hell…"

He had located Angel immediately. She was doubled over at the waist, one arm sort of hooked on a nearby handrail. The dog hovered anxiously beside her with his tail still fanning from side to side. From the small gathered crowd, Steve could tell this scene had been going on for a while. Angel couldn't seem to stop coughing. True, she'd had a bit of an issue last night, but Steve certainly hadn't guessed it would turn into something like this! The severity of the cough prevented her from standing upright.

"Angel?" he reached out to her. It seemed a little pointless to ask her if she was all right. He turned to an elder gent who seemed to have been standing there for a while, watching, and asked, "How long has she been like this?"

The fellow shrugged, pulling his white scarf that damn near _smelled _expensive up closer round his neck.

"I dunno," he replied, scrunching his brow for a moment. "I'd guess five… maybe ten minutes? She's been doing that a while."

Steve thanked the man for his help, but his words got lost behind a horrible gurgling sound. He swung round in time to see the dog leap back, jerking at his leash. Angel seemed to be choking on something. Automatically, Steve reached out for the small girl. But even Captain America had to take a wide step back as the gagging sound gave way to a spectacular amount of vomit. Disgusted but mostly worried, Steve found himself baffled by the sheer volume of… well… _that_ that her small body could hold.

She didn't seem able to lift her head after that, and everyone present watched her knees turn into Jell-O. A man nearer to her than Steve attempted to catch her as she sank forward, but couldn't do much. At least he guided her to fall to the side. The dog yanked free of her hand, but didn't go far. Angel immediately looked frightened and upset.

"Stitch!" she croaked, trying to reach for the leash. A teenage girl picked it up and handed it back to her. "Thanks for that."

Sighing, Steve started excusing himself through the crowd. He thanked everyone closest for their help. The teenage girl stared, her wide eyes disappearing into bright blue bangs. It didn't take much effort at all for Steve to get Angel into his arms – she trembled all over, clutching the leash like a lifeline. Still wagging his tail, the dog trailed along beside them as Steve went back up the front steps. Charlotte saw him approach and jumped up to open the door.

"Do I need to call 911?" she asked, trying to push back the note of panic in her voice. "What happened?"

Steve shook his head, trying to find a more stable position for the girl so he could get her onto the elevator, fitting the dog in safely too.

"I think she just got sick," he told her, reaching out and punching the elevator button. The dog nosed Charlotte's knee, demanding some attention. "I don't reckon you need to call 911. I'm just going to get her upstairs and let her get some rest."

Charlotte scratched the dog behind one ear, grateful for the stabilizing influence.

"Well, Captain, you let me know if you need anything," she insisted, stepping back to let them get on as the elevator doors opened.

"Will do, ma'am," he assured her, shifting Angel and pulling the reluctant dog into the elevator. "Thanks for your help."

The elevator doors shut and Angel made another sound – Steve hoped she wasn't about to be sick again. But thankfully, she didn't. It seemed she just wanted to get a better hold on the dog's leash. That felt odd to him. Most people would be reaching out for human comfort in a situation like this. All she seemed to care about was making sure the dog was okay. And what was that she had called him? It didn't sound like a name.

When the elevator reached his floor, he once again had to drag the dog across the threshold. For whatever reason, the animal didn't like that door. But either way, Steve found his way back to his own front door. He fumbled for a second, trying to get his keys out of his pocket. Of course he just _had _to stick them in his trouser pocket. So he gave Angel a little nudge.

"Hey, Angel?" he said quietly, trying not to startle her. "Can you stand up for a second? I can't reach my keys."

She nodded and Steve set her down carefully. Instead of leaning on him, she stumbled and hit the wall. The dog immediately pressed himself into her knees. Sliding down the wall, Angel curled up and let the dog sit next to her, wrapping both arms around him. This unusual display gave Steve time to fish through both trouser pockets and locate his keys. He stuck the proper one in the lock and gave it the usual shake. The lock gave and he opened the door.

"Come on in," he encouraged, reaching a hand down to her. The dog looked defensive for a second, but when Angel took Steve's hand, he relaxed. "Let's get you lying down."

Angel allowed Steve to help her up and insisted on walking to the couch, despite shaking like a baby deer the entire way. She kicked her sneakers off by the end of the couch and let herself fall back on it. Leaning on the arm of the couch, she reached out to scratch the top of the dog's head. Steve sat beside her on the couch, incredibly concerned. He waited for her to finish reassuring the dog before he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"So, can you tell me what happened out there?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet and non-confrontational.

Angel looked confused and thoughtful at the same time – aside from being dreadfully pale, she seemed to be holding it together all right.

"I dunno," she finally said, looking over towards the window. "I just started coughing again. Didn't think anything of it until it got bad…"

Wait a second, he thought… Had this kind of thing happened before? Steve looked the small girl up and down. She had leaned down to take the leash off the dog. The large golden animal hopped up on the couch again, planting himself in between Steve and Angel. Steve reached out a hand and scratched between the dog's shoulders. Big gold-brown eyes looked back at him, accompanying a huge doggy grin. Angel didn't seem to be forthcoming with any more information about what had just happened.

"So, can you tell me about your friend here?" Steve asked to change the subject. "I heard you call him something outside."

Angel smiled, her pale little face lighting up – she reached out to hug the large dog.

"His name is Stitch," she told him. Steve looked extremely confused. But Angel continued, "It's not a real name in Iceland, but here it's a good name."

Now, Steve could only stare at her.

"I'm sorry, but… _what_?" he asked, feeling the familiar sensation of something very recent having gone completely over his head.

She tilted her head at him, looking just as confused as he felt.

"You've never seen _Lilo and Stitch?_" she asked, as if she couldn't comprehend the concept.

Steve had no idea what she could even be talking about, beyond that this was probably a movie.

"Um… I'm going to say no?" he told her, still feeling like the conversation had come from outer space. "What is that?"

Angel rolled her golden-green eyes, still holding the dog close to her.

"It's a Disney movie," she informed him with the air of explaining something to a very slow child. Then her speech devolved into hyper-babble. He grasped as much as "It's about a little girl who's different and nobody likes her so she meets this alien monster who got made in a lab and nobody likes him either and they live in Hawai'i and her parents died in a car accident but she adopts the alien from an animal shelter and…"

After that, Steve felt like there might be smoke leaking out the top of his head. For somebody who could barely breathe a second ago, she had just vomited more information in thirty seconds than Nick Fury could deliver in ten minutes. Steve processed about as much as "Disney movie" and that he understood. So she had named the dog "Stitch" after a character in this movie. He nodded slowly, for the moment choosing to pretend he understood all of that.

"I still can't believe you haven't seen _Lilo and Stitch_," Angel repeated, squeaking as the dog licked her face. "He's a monster, but hey! Just a little one!"

Steve wondered why she had affected a slight Russian accent for that last one, but figured it was probably another movie reference he missed. She looked like she might be about to continue, but another cough took the place of words. It sounded like bronchitis. And from what he remembered, where he was from, bronchitis could kill people. She didn't even have the sniffles yesterday…

"Say, have you had that looked at?" he asked, trying to sound off-handed. "You don't sound so good."

Angel shrugged, cracking her neck and frowning impatiently.

"It's nothing," she told him, a touch annoyed. "This kind of thing has been happening like clockwork every November since I was thirteen. It's just an annual respiratory infection, is what the doctor back home said."

What the hell kind of doctor said things like that, thought Steve.

* * *

A vintage VW bus sat parked outside a public health clinic on the other side of the city. Inside the clinic sat seven hippies. A girl with purple dreadlocks leaned heavily on a thin, pale man with gauged-out earlobes. She coughed hard, showing blood at the corners of her mouth. The man she leaned on looked very nauseated. Beside them sat two young women. One had long red hair with blunt-cut bangs. She had commandeered a wastebasket for the two of them. The other woman, a thick-set girl with green cat-eye glasses, leaned over the basket with a miserable expression. A shorter, more feminine-looking man sat beside the thick-set girl, coughing against a larger man's shoulder. On the larger man's other side sat a small, frail-looking girl with pink curls.

All of them looked so sick that the rest of the waiting room had given them a wide berth. The nurse who came out looked at her clipboard, looked round at the whole waiting room, and stepped back behind the heavy wooden door. One of the receptionists had already put on a cough mask. The physician on duty needed to see this _now._ So she called back the Wozniak family for a routine set of boosters and put in a discreet call to the back rooms.

"Hey, Dr. Merrick?" she said into the handset. "We've got a set of people up front that need attention ASAP."

* * *

In a hospital in central Georgia, five high-school students sat with their families in a waiting room. One girl, a pretty cheerleader – still in her uniform – with straight blonde highlighted hair, sat beside her mother, pale and sweating. She'd had a mild cough for several days. During practice, she had collapsed and coughed hard until she vomited. The brown-haired boy in the soccer jersey, sitting with both his parents to her left, complained of the same symptoms.

"Pauline?" the cheerleader's mother addressed the mother of a curly-haired redheaded boy across the waiting room from her. "How long did Kyle have his cough before this started?"

The bottle-brunette Pauline shook her head, frowning anxiously.

"No, Kyle didn't have a cough," she said, her voice thick with worry. "He told me his stomach hurt – like a girl having cramps. Had those for a couple of days, then he started throwing up while he was doing his math homework."

Kyle swallowed hard, clutching the plastic emetic basin the waiting room attendant had handed him. Beside him sat a girl with long curly ash-brown hair who kept swiping convulsively at her mouth. Her dad sat with his head in his hands – he hadn't been able to get hold of Christine's mom in Duluth. Twin eleven-year-old boys sat on his other side, fighting over a Nintendo DS.

"Tyler, Samuel – you cut that out or it becomes mine!" he snapped at the boys for what felt like the millionth time. "And turn that sound off!"

The two shrank down in their seats, Samuel fiddling with the volume knob.

Another cheerleader, this one blonde with a brunette under-layer, made a gurgling sound and Kyle threw her his emetic basin. She didn't catch it, but her older brother did, holding his sister's hair back as she threw up violently. Her cheeks looked purple. When she straightened up, she coughed from deep in her chest. The receptionist called for a nurse to distribute some more basins.

"Breanne Majors, you can come on back," the nurse said to the first cheerleader as she handed out the basins. "Mrs. Majors, is your daughter eighteen or over?"

Mrs. Majors shook her head.

"Then you need to come back too," the nurse informed her. "Nathan Gilchrist, you're up next."

The boy in the soccer jersey nudged his mom, who now looked slightly dazed – she picked up her purse and the two of them waited listlessly.

As Breanne and Mrs. Majors followed the nurse into the back, the other parents looked round at each other. Kyle made a noise like he might have something stuck in his throat. The twins went back to fighting over the DS. Christine coughed hard, but then got up and ran to the unisex restroom. The door banged shut behind her. Nathan's sister got up and hovered near the door with a worried expression. All the parents had the same tough question in their eyes.

_What is happening to our children?_


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **_**Nothing in this fiction, whether it's Marvel or anything else that may be alluded to is mine. There's really nothing else I can say about this stuff, okay!? Not mine! Don't sue me, cos I don't have jack shit!**_

Chapter 3

A few days later, the CDC had been alerted. What started with five high school students in central Georgia had spread to a senior class of about one-fifty. Some cases had even started among underclassmen, mostly siblings of the seniors. Clusters of people with the same collections of symptoms had cropped up along I-95. The cases along there had mostly been hippies, people whose only access to health care was public clinics. This condition spreading from a small, upper-middle-class private school to a bunch of hippies was not normal. The only connection was a missing persons report.

And from the trail of cases, she was somewhere in New York City.

Angel Odell lay on Steve Rogers's blue calico couch, bundled up with her bear and yellow blanket, plus the spare comforter from the back of his closet. Stitch, the big gold dog, lay at her feet at the other end of the couch. For the past three days, it had been all or nothing. Either she was up and bopping around, or she was down and out. She had been out walking her dog, chatting with people, and exploring New York City, all with Steve in tow. But the rest of the time, she had been so sick that Steve almost did call 911.

She had complained of abdominal cramps that left her curled up and immobile for hours. If she started coughing, it didn't let up until she threw up several times. At first she had no fever, then she'd had a low-grade one, but then it shot up above a hundred. Right when he had gotten a doctor on the phone, she had announced that she felt fine and retreated to the shower. Steve had told the confused physician that he had a feeling they'd be in touch.

The next day, Angel insisted that she was okay and that she wanted to take Stitch out to the fountain in Central Park. She wanted to take some pictures, insisting the dog was more photogenic than she was. Steve followed somewhat reluctantly, apprehensive after how sick she had been last night. At first, it seemed she would be okay. She stopped to talk to people, even ran for a short distance with Stitch. But then she had started to cough again.

"I'm fine, I swear!" she insisted, covering another cough. "It's just being stubborn, trying to hang on – that's it!"

Steve hadn't even tried arguing with her at that point – he just stood back. His first cue was the change in the dog's behavior. The tail stopped wagging and the doggy grin disappeared. He stopped dancing round her knees. And then it happened. The cough overtook her to the point that she couldn't control it anymore – it turned wet and overpowering. She coughed and gagged until she fell forward, clutching onto the dog. Then she leaned over his gold back and threw up again. This time, there wasn't anyone to catch her, but she did manage to get a foot or so away before she fell over. Steve watched for a moment – she didn't get up.

This time, when he went to pick her up, Steve noticed blood running from her nose and mouth.

"Hey! I need some help over here!" he immediately shouted, shifting Angel onto her side and drawing her knees up a bit. "I need a phone – somebody call 911 right now!"

Oh but right… This was New York. Nobody paid him much attention. So he picked Angel up, grabbed Stitch by the leash, and headed back to his building. Charlotte didn't ask when she saw the two of them. She just picked up the phone and dialed 911. But that wasn't who she got connected to. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realized who had intercepted the call.

But Steve didn't notice the disturbance behind the front desk. He just proceeded straight to the elevator. Once again, he had to drag Stitch in after them. The elevator rose to the proper floor and he proceeded to his front door. This time, he had his keys in the pocket of his bomber jacket. But when he stuck the key in the lock, he found that the door had been unlocked already.

"It's all right, Captain," called a familiar voice. "Just open the door and come on in."

Stitch growled, but Steve opened the door and went in.

"Captain Rogers, the young lady is going to need to come with me," Director Fury informed him, delivering no explanation or foreword.

Steve's protective instinct overrode his programming to follow orders.

"Sir, I'm gonna need to know why," he said calmly, trying to push Stitch behind him with one hand. "This seems like a bit of an overreaction to one runaway teenage girl."

Director Fury made an impatient noise.

"This isn't about a missing persons issue," he said evasively. "It's about a bio-terrorist threat."

Steve stared at the man in black in complete disbelief.

"Beg your pardon, sir, but…" he started carefully. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Fury's one working eye rolled heavenward.

"I just got off the phone with the CDC in Atlanta," he told Steve, pointing at Angel. "And they thought it was just a little weird that they're dealing with now upwards of one thousand cases of an unknown disease. The only connection is a missing persons report from central Georgia – a report for Miss Angel Odell."

Steve blinked, tightening his grip on Angel. She started to stir a bit. Stitch looked up at the two of them and wagged his tail. The dozen SHIELD agents in haz-mat suits accompanying Director Fury stared at the three of them uneasily. But the director motioned them back. The last thing he needed was to get the captain on the defensive.

"With all due respect, Director," Steve addressed the man with the eye patch. "But can you dispense with your flair for the dramatic and just tell me what's going on? What does Angel have to do with the CDC?"

Director Fury took a few steps forward, keeping one hand up non-threateningly.

"They're currently following a trail of victims that starts at a high school in central Georgia and goes all the way up the east coast," he informed the captain. "Did she not tell you how she got up to New York City?"

Steve shook his head.

"Didn't ask, not my business," he said curtly. "Now are you going to let me set her down so we can talk about this?"

Director Fury gestured at the couch.

"By all means – but that's another thing, Captain," he went on. "What the hell are you doing with a sixteen-year-old girl in your apartment!?"

Angel looked up from where Steve set her on the couch, her golden-green eyes flashing at Director Fury.

"Nothing happened!" she croaked rather than shouted. "He was just being nice to me!"

The dog planted himself between Angel and Director Fury – the hair went up along his spine and his tail pointed up, totally still.

"Director, sir, I swear to you, nothing inappropriate has gone on," Captain Rogers confirmed, his blue eyes going steely. "Now, what's this about? All I know is she's sick and she's scared. Last thing she needs right now is to be in trouble."

The director tried to soften his expression – it didn't quite work, but it was worth the effort.

"She's not technically in trouble," he attempted to explain. "But as of right now, she is in the custody of SHIELD. We've notified her parents and they're in protective custody in Atlanta."

Steve sat next to Angel on the couch, putting a protective hand on her shoulder and processing this information carefully.

"So why haven't I gotten sick?" was his first question.

Fury nodded.

"Thought you'd ask that," he assented. "Erskine's serum gave you a real hardy immune system. She'd probably have to have the plague twice over plus AIDS _and_ Ebola for you to get so much as the sniffles."

Angel looked round at everyone in the room and pulled Stitch closer to her.

"I thought you said you were in the army," she said accusingly to Steve.

"Well, SHIELD is kind of like the army," Fury cut in before Steve had to scramble to defend himself. "He's still a captain, but…"

The two men made eye contact – she couldn't know that.

"But it's kind of like a combination of the police and the army," Steve finished, figuring he had already dug himself in a hole with this one.

Understandably, the girl looked very angry.

"You said you weren't a cop," she growled. "Well are you?"

She started to cough again.

"Nah, he's not a cop," Fury assured her. "But that's not the issue right now."

It was Steve's turn to look angry.

"I think Miss Odell deserves some answers," he declared, his hand tightening on her shoulder despite her attempts to swat him away.

Fury nodded – the most reasonable thing he had done so far, in Steve's opinion.

"I agree, that's fair," he said, his tone all of a sudden very careful. "But I can't give anybody the kind of answers they need on this subject."

Steve's eyes narrowed while Angel struggled to contain her coughing. The men in the haz-mat suits tried to advance, but the dog in Angel's arms growled. Director Fury looked as unreadable as ever.

"So, what do you suggest, sir?" Steve tried not to demand.

The director frowned, and his hand went to his pocket immediately.

"Let me step outside, Captain," he said simply. "I need to make a phone call."

He motioned for the men in the haz-mat suits to stay where they were as he walked past the couch and let himself out of the apartment. The team stayed put as ordered. Angel still tried to smack Steve's hand away from her. She looked furious and miserable. The dog got between them again, this time glaring at Steve in the way only a large dog can. The captain sighed – he knew he deserved this.

"Look, I didn't mean to lie to you," he tried to say – Angel hid her face in her knees, sniffling audibly. "It's just… with my job… it wouldn't be safe for either of us to tell you everything."

The dog leaned his head on Angel's shoulder.

"Yeah, whatever," came Angel's muffled retort, her small frame shaking. "It doesn't matter now anyway, 'cause now they think I'm a terrorist or something."

Steve bit his lip and, though she tried to shove him off, pushed the dog out of the way, and pulled her close to his side.

"Shh… Hush… I promise, nobody thinks you're a terrorist," he told her, feeling the fight leaking out of her. He wasn't sure if she had given up or if just the lack of being able to keep anything down for four days had gotten to her. "And I'm not going to let anybody hurt you."

Angel looked up at him, and for the first time, her eyes looked truly frightened.

"You promise?" she asked, sounding very… young. Her next words seemed truly painful for her to say. "I'm scared."

Steve held her where she was.

"I promise," he told her in the quietest voice he possessed.

She seemed satisfied with this, letting Stitch jump back up to settle against her other side. The men in the haz-mat suits shifted uncomfortably. Steve wanted very much to order them out of his apartment. But they probably had instructions to listen only to Director Fury. Angel had curled up tighter on the couch, an indicator that the abdominal cramps had started again.

The semi-uncomfortable silence was broken by Director Fury's re-entry to the apartment.

"Miss Odell, you're going to need to come with me," he directed. "There's a doctor waiting in the SHIELD medical unit."

This time, Steve stood up, putting himself between Director Fury and Angel.

"Sir, request permission to accompany Miss Odell," he stated more than asked.

Fury nodded.

"Granted, Captain," he consented before motioning to the haz-mat team. "You get Miss Odell down to medical, now."

There was a small problem with that. Angel had no intention of going along with all of this quietly. She kicked the first man to reach for her and threatened to bite the next person who put a hand in her direction. But then she cringed from the pain in her abdominal muscles and one of them took hold of her shoulder. They weren't exactly gentle about pulling her off the couch. Two of them pushed a gurney with restraints from out of the hallway of Rogers's apartment. Angel started to scream.

"Director, I think you're using excessive force here," Steve said to Fury in a hard voice. "Let me talk to her and there won't be a need for all this."

Fury held up a hand for the haz-mat team to halt and Steve pushed the two closest back away from Angel.

"Can you make it by yourself?" he asked her simply.

She glared around at everybody in the room, looking terrified enough to become seriously unbalanced.

"I at least want the option of trying," she told him, shaking all over. Leaning on both Stitch and Steve, she attempted to push herself up off the couch. She couldn't conceal the pain in her face. "Please… just let me try."

One of the haz-mat team started to say something about liability issues, but Steve cut in.

"Only thing that's liable to happen is I'm likely to crack your head if you scare her anymore," he said sharply. "Now stand down and Miss Odell's going to make it on her own."

The haz-mat man replied with a quick "Yes, sir" and backed off. Steve let Angel hold onto his arm and she clamped down on her lip with her teeth standing up. Stitch whined as one of the haz-mat men shut him in Steve's bedroom. Angel protested, but Steve assured her the dog would be well taken-care of. The haz-mat team filed out behind Steve and Angel as they followed Fury into the hall. Angel struggled to make it as far as the elevator, but refused to let Steve help her beyond leaning on his arm.

They made it onto the elevator before she got sick again. The fellow considered himself lucky to be wearing a haz-mat suit. No one said anything. Director Fury continued looking straight ahead, as did Rogers. The rest of the team just kept quiet. Angel started to cry in embarrassment, pain, and frustration. As she swallowed hard, Fury pulled a black handkerchief out of his jacket. She took it gratefully and wiped her face. This time, she did not protest as Steve lifted her into his arms.

"You're gonna be all right," he told her softly. She started to cry into his shirt to hide her noise and tears. "I'll be right here for you, I promise. You'll be fine."

All he could hear was her crying.

* * *

Back in central Georgia, the Majors family had fallen to pieces. Reverend Derrick had been at the house all day. Mrs. Majors hadn't been able to say a word. Mr. Majors hadn't stopped crying. The two of them couldn't believe that they were about to bury their seventeen-year-old daughter. Breanne's official cause of death had been dehydration. None of the doctors could tell them what she had.

The youth pastor of their same church, Tommy Gillis, had been at the Pierce house all day. Christine Pierce was still in the hospital. But Tyler and Samuel had contracted it as well. Their parents had been at a loss as Samuel came through all right, but Tyler's condition deteriorated rapidly. The little boy had passed away only that morning. Tommy had known both boys since they were born. They and Christine had been incredibly active in youth group. It had been all he could do not to fall apart at that beautiful boy's passing. And it didn't sit well with him how Mrs. Pierce had started to cough as well.

Nathan Gilchrist had received the rite of the Anointing of the Sick the evening before. Father Hurley, never at a loss for the perfect thing to say, had offered the boy as much comfort as he could. And the Gilchrist family knew that all was in the hands of the Lord now. Nathan had his Confirmation Bible and his rosary, so he felt ready for whatever happened. The doctors had given him about a fifty-fifty chance. This also considering they couldn't quite put their finger on a diagnosis, was probably saying something.

The entire town was in an uproar. Almost half of the small Catholic high school had been hospitalized. Several students had died. More seemed to be in the process of dying. Siblings and parents came down with the mysterious sickness as well. Agents of the CDC prowled all over the town, not giving any conclusive information to anyone. Everyone wanted to know what was happening to the children – strong, healthy students did not die of mysterious diseases here!

All anybody knew was that Angel Odell – that weird girl – was nowhere to be found after a fall-out with her parents.

* * *

Angel had been successfully transported to SHIELD's medical facility. Success didn't mean 'without incident' though. She had been so upset that the medical staff leader had ordered her sedated. Nick Fury got all sorts of upset with this. With the patient _loopy_, how the hell were they supposed to ask her anything!? How could they get information about symptoms or feelings or anything like that?! Steve had also given the man a sound chewing-out.

"Okay, from the printout you gave me, Director," said a nervous, slightly nasal voice, with a touch of ironic laughter. "This seems like a complete disaster."

Steve and Director Fury turned around to see the half-grinning figure of Dr. Bruce Banner standing there with a manila folder in his hand.

"I had really hoped to ask her a few questions," he informed them. "But it doesn't look like that's going to happen for a while, is it?"

Director Fury scrubbed at one side of his face with his hand and Steve rolled his eyes. Angel stirred fitfully in her medicated sleep. Dr. Banner looked at all three of them. He looked at the IV drip in Angel's arm and the irritated expressions on Director Fury and Captain Rogers's faces.

"So, dehydration?" he asked pointlessly before continuing, "Plus gastroenteritis and inflammation of the bronchioles also known as bronchitis…"

He reached into the extremely beaten briefcase he carried and retrieved a medical journal that looked several decades old.

"Well gentlemen, I have some information for you regarding the, uh, case," he informed them. "But at this point, I'm not sure how information helps any more than no information at all…"

Director Fury scowled and Captain Rogers looked confused.

"Would you mind cutting the explanation and getting right to the catastrophe?" growled Fury, pinching the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand. "What exactly are we dealing with here, doctor?"

Dr. Banner ran a hand through his already-frazzled, graying hair and rifled through some more of his briefcase.

"Well, uh, the closest journal I could find dates back to the Korean… er… conflict," he went on. He flipped through the journal in his hand. "Most of the reports came from uh… this unit about three miles from the front. They'd run across reports of it in another journal… Says Nissei here…"

Steve had to keep from grinding his teeth.

"With respect, doctor," he said as politely as he could. "Can you get to the point?"

Banner rolled his eyes and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"It's called Korean hemorrhagic fever," he snapped. "That's all I've got."


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **_**Okay, seriously, really… I STILL don't own any Avengers stuff. I don't even have the movie yet. I don't even have a Blu-Ray player. So I don't own this stuff. I own anything that's not original to the movies, like the idea for this fic and any original characters. If you want to use Angel, please ask me.**_

**Author's Note: **_**I reserve the right to be creative with the Korean hemorrhagic fever thing. I did get the idea from MASH, but diseases evolve. Do not flame me, please.**_

Chapter 4

The CDC agents had been as respectful as they could of funerary practices. Tommy Gillis had conducted the services for Christine Pierce and her mother, providing as much comfort as he could to the surviving father and Tyler. Nathan Gilchrist had been square with the Lord when he passed. His funeral was the fourth Father Hurley officiated that week. The death toll had risen to about fifty of the 600-odd-student school. Everyone knew someone dead or sick. But the fact remained: the homes of the sick, plus gravesites, were contaminated areas.

Counting those outside the student body, the deaths totaled something like 200 people in the small town alone. CDC agents worked round the clock, treating as many people as they could. The disease continued to spread. They could figure the young runaway had traveled up Interstate 95. Quite a few places along there had turned home to outbreaks as well. Frighteningly enough, it had broken out in Alexandria, Virginia. Immediate quarantine action had not stopped the disease from spreading out of a hippie apartment complex. A similar event happened in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Reports had emerged among the sick of a group of travelers in a VW party van, the vintage kind. A few gave conflicting testimonies of a girl who may or may not have met Angel Odell's description. At least everyone could agree that yes, one of the passengers was probably traveling with a large dog. Angel's parents had reported that a dog had gone missing along with the girl. But anyone who might have had more information died within the first few days. The disease had already taken up residence and didn't seem to be going anywhere.

Every city that reported the presence of this party van now played host to a growing party of disease, dying, and dead. No one had the tag number or could give a decent physical description of any of the passengers. Many of those who could have given information refused to do so. Even in the face of death and disease, they held true to the anti-snitching policy of the street.

* * *

Angel had been in custody of SHIELD for a week now, slipping in and out of consciousness most of the time. The fever had spiked and it had been all the nursing staff could do to bring it down. Dr. Banner worried for possible brain damage when her temperature hit 105 and wouldn't budge. They still hadn't managed to push it down below 99.5 the whole rest of the week. Angel, for her part, fought every step of the way. Nick Fury commented that he wasn't sure if she was fighting the disease or the treatment. Steve figured maybe fighting _anything _would keep her strength up.

He had hardly left her bedside the whole week. Director Fury and he had finally sat down and discussed how she wound up with him, but that was about it. The director, surprisingly, believed that there hadn't been any funny business. Steve swore that his interest in the girl was strictly protective.

With a cough, Angel began to awaken again.

"Captain Rogers?" she asked, forcing herself to sit up. Her entire body shook and her elbows locked in a disturbing position to keep her upright. "Cap, what's going on?"

Steve shifted in his chair and leaned closer to her.

"You know, you _can _call me Steve," he reminded her. "Whatcha need?"

The fever-bright green eyes blinked at him and she smiled, even with her lips dry and cracked.

"I like 'Cap' a little better," she told him, visibly attempting to _make _herself remain sitting up. "Could you help me up?"

For a moment, Steve looked nonplussed. Had someone forgotten to put that mild sedative in her IV? For the first two days, she had fought tooth and nail to get out of bed until someone added that… Steve himself had wound up with a Band-Aid on his hand where she bit him in an attempt to fight her way out.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," he started out slowly, glancing round for _any _of the nursing staff who might be there and finding none. "Doctor Banner said you really should stay in bed until you're at least off the IV."

Angel glared, making it perfectly clear without words that if he wasn't going to help, then she was going to get up right the hell on her own. She might be stubborn, Steve thought, but he wasn't Captain America for nothing, right? He took a firm hold on her shoulder. Even with one hand, he could feel her shaking quite hard. She bared her teeth at him.

"Cap… please! Don't make me fight with you!" she pleaded, trying to worm her shoulder out of his hand. "I just want to stand up on my own – I want a glass of water!"

Oh hell – yet another item on the doctor's list of "no." And from the way Banner had put it, this one wasn't negotiable. Steve tried to reason with the girl, to talk her back into bed, but he'd never been any good with that. However, at the very least, she needed both of her hands to sit up. That way she didn't have one to swat him with and she wasn't at the right angle to bite him.

"Angel, calm down…" he tried to soothe her. "Please, I don't want to see you hurt yourself."

This seemed to catch her where she lived, and she laid back down, giving him the saddest look he had ever seen from a female.

"Captain… Steve?" she all but begged, reaching the arm that didn't have the needle in it up to him. He blinked, but let her take his hand. Angel continued, "All I wanted was to get up and get some water. Please? Just this once – I'll be careful! You can even help me!"

He sighed heavily and resolved to tell Dr. Banner that he'd tried – he had lost this battle as soon as that tear slid down her cheek. As carefully as he could, he turned down the rail on the side of her bed facing him. Angel steered the IV's stand round the bed and swung her legs over under her own power. She clenched her jaw in determination and hung on to Steve's arm. Taking it slowly, he guided the young woman to stand up. It tugged something fierce at his heart to feel her shake like a baby lamb. For a moment, she looked up at him, her green eyes wide.

"Don't hold on too much, okay?" she asked, taking her first step forward towards the sink. "I can do this."

The Captain couldn't help but smile – Dr. Banner might be a hopeless pessimist, but Steve could somehow _tell_ that this girl could make it. He nodded to her, but didn't take his arm away from its place round her shoulders. Her knees shook, almost unable to support even her current, much-reduced weight. But she made herself continue to move ahead. Finally, she found herself clutching onto the counter at the far side of the room. She reached for the glass and set it beside the sink. It was hard enough to maneuver everything with a large-bore needle in her right arm. Through a bit of trial and error, she managed to fill the glass with water.

"I've been so thirsty for the past three days," she told him. "And if I had been awake, I bet I'd've been thirsty for the first few. I don't get why the doctor won't let me have any water."

Steve blinked – had no one explained to her what was going on?

"Didn't he tell you?" he asked in all seriousness.

Angel frowned deeply at him as if he was some sort of co-conspirator.

"No," she said shortly, trying to drink her glass of water without looking desperate. "He didn't really tell me much anything."

This time, Steve frowned as well, seeing as it didn't sit well with him not to tell her the truth.

"Cap, what is it?" Angel's voice cut into his thoughts. She refilled her glass and drained it once more. She looked up at him with her eyes, for once, blank. "How much did they tell you that they didn't tell me?"

He watched her fill the glass for a third time and begin draining it right away, his guts churning at exactly what they had told him.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you," he began slowly, inwardly flinching already at the anger in her bright eyes. "They told me a few things about your… condition, yeah."

Angel continued drinking her water, staring at the Captain expectantly. She emptied the glass and refilled it once more. This time, however, Steve did the unexpected. She resisted as he tried to remove the glass from her hands, but her hands tingled with burgeoning numbness. This time, she attempted to protest vocally, trying to fight it as her guts did the familiar contortion routine. The glass slipped from both their hands and shattered. Steve had to react and he caught Angel instinctively as her eyes rolled up in her head and her knees gave out.

He carried her back and laid her down in bed. She didn't stay unconscious for long, sitting bolt upright after a minute and looking round frantically. Without conscious thought, he grabbed a wastebasket. He held back the long braid the nurses had done her hair into to keep it out of her face. After a few desperate dry heaves, the water reappeared with a burning vengeance. Though he averted his gaze to let her keep her dignity, a flash of red caught his attention.

"Angel, I need you to lie back but stay awake for me," he instructed, forcing himself to remain calm – he had never seen someone actually vomit blood. Coughing was one thing, but blood and water in vomit could _not _be good. Her face had gone deathly pale and she didn't seem able to keep her eyes open. "Come on… You need to stay awake and I need to get Doctor Banner in here."

The girl tried to say something, but it didn't come out coherent – he thought he heard her try to call his name.

"I need you to stay awake," he repeated, taking hold of her hand. "Let me know you're awake – if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

It took her a moment, but then she squeezed his hand so weakly he could barely feel it.

"Angel, I know you can do better than that," he whispered urgently, trying not to scare her with his tone. "Squeeze harder – hard as you can."

This time, her hand only twitched in his grip.

"Oh hell," he swore, unwilling to let panic set in just yet. He set her hand down on her chest and jumped up. Quickly, he crossed the room to stick his head out the door and yell. "I need Doctor Banner in here right now! Nurse! Anybody – somebody just get in here!"

An alarm started to go off, paging Doctor Banner and summoning him to Angel's room. Before any of the nursing staff could make it to the door, Director Fury appeared round a corner. He didn't ask any questions, but followed Steve into the room. Captain Rogers immediately took the girl's hand back in his and started to talk to her. They could hear several people hurrying in the hallway.

"Angel, come on – you can do this," Steve urged the young lady, barely paying the director any mind at all. He wasn't medical staff, so he could wait. "Stay awake for me. Squeeze my hand one more time – just let me know you can hear me… Please."

Whether she had actually heard him or not could be counted totally irrelevant, but Steve couldn't remember feeling so relieved. Angel's small, thin hand clenched, however softly, on his hand once, then twice. Her eyes fluttered like she was trying to open them. He wasn't sure when his free hand had come to rest on her cheek, but she felt disturbingly cold. At his encouragement, she continued to hold and release his hand. A small voice in the back of his head told him that she would hold onto life as long as she held his hand.

"Cap…" Angel whispered, her voice sounding like it caused her great pain tearing itself out of her throat. She swallowed hard, pushing back the next round for the moment. "I'm so scared."

When she tried to lift her head, he helped, letting her rest it in the palm of his large hand. After blinking hard a few times, she gathered the strength – gripping his other hand tightly – to force her eyes wide open. Steve could see his own reflection in her glassy green eyes. Something about that frightened him to his very core, and he could not remember being frightened very often.

"Steve, I think I'm dying," Angel told him, her voice very soft and raspy, but exceptionally clear. He supported her body once again as she twisted violently and threw up into the wastebasket. When she finished, she fell back on her pillow, exhausted. "I think… I'm dying."

Neither of them had heard Doctor Banner enter the room, but Steve protested at the doctor attempting to remove him from Angel's side. Time seemed to slow down as Captain Rogers felt Director Fury take him by the shoulder. Only his programming as a soldier instructed him not to fling his commanding officer. Angel herself started to cry weakly, tears streaming from her eyes. Doctor Banner injected something into the IV drip and she stopped trying to fight. Her hand still twitched, but she did descend into unconsciousness.

"So, Captain," Doctor Banner addressed Steve, surveying the room and observing the broken glass and water on the floor. "Can you tell me what happened here? I could have sworn I left instructions to restrict fluid intake."

Steve immediately bristled, shrugging Director Fury's hand off his shoulder.

"You tell me, _Doctor_," he kept his tone deliberately polite. "She told me she was thirsty. Didn't figure you had to be a genius to know the prescription for that is water."

Doctor Banner had a vein twitching dangerously in his temple.

"I also distinctly remember ordering complete bed rest," he continued as if Steve hadn't said anything. "And don't you worry, I already know about the few times the two of you fudged on that one. At first, I didn't react – thought I'd observe and see if it meant her condition might be improving. _Obviously_, I can see that was a bad movie."

Director Fury stepped in between the two men, holding his hands up before they decided to start bowing up or anything equally stupid.

"Okay, _gentlemen_, we've clearly had some miscommunication here," he said decisively. "But I think the best thing all of us can do is back away for a minute. Captain Rogers, you need to come with me. Doctor, you stay here and do what you need to do for her."

Neither man seemed terribly all right with this, but the Director's decision had to stand before anything serious happened. Steve frowned deeply, but allowed himself to be steered from the room. Doctor Banner cracked his neck noisily and started silently checking machine settings and Angel's vital signs. A nurse appeared and started cleaning up the broken glass. Angel stirred fitfully in her drug-induced sleep.

Director Fury turned to Steve as soon as they were in the hallway.

"Director, I apologize…" Steve began.

"Don't," the one-eyed man cut him off. "Right now, I think you have a promise to keep about taking care of that dog of hers. Take him out and don't let me see you for another hour at least – understand me?"

Knowing he was in the wrong and eating himself with guilt, Steve nodded, saluted, and answered "Yes, sir."

Back in Angel's room, Doctor Banner used the opportunity to take a couple more samples and check the girl's general condition. He had no idea how such a tiny, sick girl with no extraordinary properties on her file could do this. Even as he drew her blood, she tried in her drugged state to scratch him. Maybe he could turn her survival probability up a few degrees of percentage… It wasn't terribly likely, but just maybe.

He checked her chart, looking at her output statistics for the last few days. The sodium level immediately jumped out at him, the nurse having used red ink. Instantly, he thought 'well, that isn't good.' Even with the reduced fluid intake and accounting for what had just happened, her sodium output had spiked. He listened to her chest for a moment. The sound in there was sort of like putting a seashell up to his ear. His suspicions were confirmed – even though he'd caught it early, she still had fluid starting to build up in her lungs.

The paper from the unit in Korea had spelled this out. This was why, they discovered in the paper by Nissei, you had to restrict fluid intake. Despite the desperate thirst, even a little too much caused sodium output increase. And with that, that tiny overage could cause fluid buildup inside the body. After a while, fluid output stopped. Once fluid started building up in the lungs, a person could literally drown from the inside.

Angel turned her head on the pillow – her resistant tendencies to powerful drugs needed looking at too, come to that – and opened her eyes to look at him.

"Doctor Banner?" she used his name as a question. "You've got to be honest with me – trust me, I can handle it. Nobody's told me the truth about what's wrong with me my whole life… Please! What's going on? Am I going to die?"

Bruce Banner couldn't answer right away.

"The honest answer is," he told her slowly. "I don't know."


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **_**Nyuu! Still not mine! Well, not the Marvel characters – Angel's mine, and so is anybody who's not a Marvel character. If you want to borrow her, please ask me. Not that anybody has… If you don't like OC's, don't flame. Thankfully, nobody has.**_

Chapter 5

The death toll had risen dangerously high.

Back in central Georgia, almost every family in the small Catholic school had buried at least one child. Thankfully, the community had come together to support each other. But as each funeral and memorial service ended, the subject always turned back to one thing. As happened many times in mass tragedies, survivors needed someone to blame.

Angel Odell… That odd girl that the senior class had been putting up with since first grade – she did this. And as the "facts" began to compound, it was clear she had somehow done it deliberately. Everyone knew that she was the only girl in the school on special medication. She behaved oddly, never had any friends, and got sick a lot. It was common knowledge that school administrators had recommended her for multiple psychiatric evaluations. Her parents were nice enough people, but something was just _off _about that girl.

The parents and siblings who remained often ate at each other's homes, taking comfort in shared grief. But one night, the conversation turned more than it usually did to the reasoning behind all this. A mostly Christian town, there had been a lot of talk about how the Lord had His reasons for all things. Some more charitable souls said that at least the children were no longer suffering. Then charity went out the window as talk turned to that odd girl once more. Faces darkened in anger and the conversation turned darker still.

"She couldn't have just _not known _she was sick," Mrs. Gilchrist told her group of church ladies, who nodded in agreeing unison. They had been over this before. "It's the same as when someone has sex when they have AIDS."

Mr. Gilchrist hadn't been the same since Nathan's death. He leaned in the doorway, listening to the church ladies' conversation. Everyone in town knew Angel Odell had infected the school on purpose. Certainly this was a crime! It was terrorism – she had been terrorizing the school for years! Everyone knew that crazy girl was one accident away from becoming the next Columbine shooter. No one had ever thought the school handled her properly, since anyone with a lick of sense would have sent her far away.

Healing seemed to be a long way off, but the entire city had agreed on one thing… It was certainly no fault of Mr. and Mrs. Odell's that something was just that wrong with the girl. Everyone found out years ago that she was adopted, so it had to be something just… not right with her. As soon as all this cleared up, Mr. and Mrs. Odell could just move back in and try to pick up. But one thing had been clearly decided: Angel Odell would never be welcome here again.

* * *

Up in Myrtle Beach, since people came and went so quickly, the disease had spread far beyond the scope of one small town. No one was around to remember the one small, strange girl who passed through with her dog. The CDC had done the best they could to restrict travel in and out of the city. A total lockdown was totally impractical. There were simply too many country back-roads and there wasn't nearly enough man-power. Some had suggested calling in the National Guard, but what good would that do? It'd just expose the armed services to the disease as well.

What sort of disease attacked perfectly healthy, able-bodied people? There had been rumors of bioterrorist attacks. Some people were convinced it was the beginning of the end – everybody probably had anthrax or Ebola or something. Anyone with a sick friend or relative had become suspect. And the agents of the CDC weren't being terribly informative or helpful. The hospitals in the area, as far out as Shallotte, were crammed full.

All the small towns between Fayette and Myrtle Beach itself had been closed off, but no one seemed to be sick there yet. Outbreaks had, however, cropped up in the small towns round some of the gas stations along 95. One man in a service station had been able to provide a tag number, so the CDC had been able to track the vehicle all the way to New York City. But by the time they got there, the VW bus was nowhere to be found. Tracking the owner of the bus had yielded only a manila case file of seven people in a public health center.

All the information on those people led to a local mortuary. However, all the people reported to be on the bus had given the same information. The young lady who owned the bus had been from Miami. She had traveled up I-75, picked up a couple of friends in Gainesville, and continued from there. Three other people joined her at the Georgia/Florida border. Another guy jumped on and they lost two from the border in Cordele. In Macon, they had picked up the girl with the dog.

Any more information on people jumping ship and coming on had been spotty. The girl driving the bus had not been terribly coherent or willing to answer questions. If any of the people exposed to the girl with the dog were still alive, they could be absolutely anywhere and they could be carriers. Almost none of them could be traced by given name, most going by aliases. The girl with the pink curls had said the dog girl's name was Angel.

The girl driving the van started coughing outside of Boston.

* * *

Angel woke the next morning, almost to her own surprise. Breathing didn't feel like it wanted to happen. She could remember some of what had happened the night before, mostly the breaking glass. Her chest felt awfully full of something. Looking round, she saw Captain Rogers in the chair beside her bed. It had sort of become _his chair. _None of the nursing staff ever moved it. Doctor Banner leaned his back against the wall. He looked a bit surprised himself by her waking up, checking a chart in his hand and scratching his head.

"Oh, this is unexpected," he commented in his normal deadpan tone. "You know, you have a pretty heavy drug tolerance for someone your size?"

She hadn't been conscious for long enough at a stretch, Angel realized, for them to question her heavily about her medical history. Her mind raced trying to predict questions and formulate what the 'right' answers might be. The inside of her chest tightened again. She felt cold inside, but she sweated profusely. Unfortunately, in her almost-eighteen years, she had a lot of experience with interrogation by doctors and trying to give the correct answers. It was the second bit she'd never had much success with. For the moment, she decided to feign incoherence and shrugged at the doctor's comment.

"I've seen some pretty… um… unusual cases in my time and I've gotta say yours stands out," Doctor Banner pressed on. He had a growing headache and, while he had built nearly infinite stores of patience, wanted to get on with this. "How does a girl like you end up with a… condition… like this?"

Steve frowned at the doctor – he didn't like that tone.

"Doctor Banner, how much have you actually told Angel about what's going on with her?" he all but demanded.

Banner cracked his neck, yawned, and looked at his chart again.

"Not much," he admitted, but then he turned to Angel. He tried to turn on the voice he used with the kids in India. "And I do apologize for that. You haven't really been in the right… state… to get that kind of information."

Angel blinked at him, adjusting the position of her arm so that the needle there didn't make her want to throw up again quite so much.

"Am I gonna be conscious for a while so you can tell me or am I getting sedated again?" she asked, not bothering to be terribly polite. It was really all she could do to speak at the moment. "Y'all seem pretty big on sedation here."

Steve nodded in assent – he'd noticed that as well.

"And Director Fury isn't happy about that, so I gather," he chimed in, folding his arms over his chest and surveying the doctor.

Doctor Banner rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me," he said dryly. "I'm just the attending physician here – what the nursing staff does tends to take a while to reach me."

Angel blew her bangs out of her face in disgruntlement.

"Typical," she groused, coughing a bit.

Banner and Steve both decided to ignore that remark and proceed right to business.

"So, Miss Odell is it?" Banner started, to which Angel replied with a forcibly civil 'yes, sir.' "I've gotta ask you all the questions you should have been asked by someone competent a week ago."

He had managed to make his tone less abrasive, so Angel sat up as best she could. Automatically, Steve sat up a little straighter – close as it got to standing for a lady in this situation. Angel struggled to maintain equilibrium, dehydration and lack of solid food catching up with her. Her face lost whatever color it ever thought about having, but she swore and pressed a button. The bed folded in the proper place and assisted her in uprightness.

"Fire away, Doc," she said as pleasantly as she could, pulling the white hospital blanket up a bit. "And after this, can I get some real pajamas? They're still in my bag."

Steve smiled tentatively, also making a mental note about where he'd put her Mickey Mouse bag. At first glance, it might look like her condition had started to improve, but he had seen this in her brief stay at his place. These stages with her up and moving round usually indicated a fit coming on. He watched her carefully, at least glad to see her in good spirits. Angel leaned on the arm that didn't have a needle in it, smiling at Doctor Banner. This seemed to put the genius at ease. He looked down at his folder and then back at her.

"Okay, first question – this is protocol, since I'm pretty sure SHIELD already has most of the basics on file," he rattled off, giving the girl a half-smile. "Full name?"

Angel blushed, the color looking rather stark on her pale little face – Steve couldn't help smiling.

"Angel Charlotte Odell," she said quietly, looking down at her blanket-covered knees. She came up with a wet cough, spat indelicately into the wastebasket and sniffled. "It's not much of a name, but I'm sort of attached to it."

Banner didn't say anything, but scribbled something down on the file in front of him – he then looked back at Angel.

"And you're how old?" he asked, looking her up and down. "I understand you thought this was a multiple-choice question when Cap here asked…"

Angel's cheeks looked as though they might bruise at how hard she blushed.

"I'm eighteen in a couple weeks," she mumbled through slightly-clenched teeth, apparently attempting to use X-ray vision on her knees. "Sorry about any confusion."

Steve caught her green gaze and quirked an eyebrow at her – she wavered a little bit, still blushing.

"Cap, all respect, but can you maybe _not _make her pass out until I've been through all this?" Banner said as off-handedly as he could, determinedly staring at his chart and thinking about maybe taking Stark up on that weed offer. "Now, Miss Odell, when was the date of your last cycle?"

It was Steve's turn to go bright red – how Banner could be so clinical about that was totally beyond him.

"Haven't had one in about three months," Angel told the doctor, looking at a rivet on the wall. "Doctor back home said I don't weigh enough. I don't eat when I'm medicated."

Banner continued scratching away at his chart/folder thing.

"Okay, brings me to my next couple questions," he went on, ignoring Steve as he got up and excused himself rather suddenly from the room. "Are you pregnant or is there a chance that you are pregnant?"

At this, Angel exploded with a short burst of laughter.

"Um, yeah – NO," she proclaimed, shaking her head. "Not physically possible, unless I'm the next Darth Vader's mom."

This time, it was Doctor Bruce Banner who couldn't help smiling – that answer, he'd never heard before.

"So, back to the most recent unpleasantness," he directed the conversation. "Are you on any medications, prescription or otherwise? If so, what are they?"

Angel's laugh turned hollow, raspy from the fluid in her chest.

"I can only give you the ones I can remember," she told him, trying to keep some humor in her tone, but it went bitter. "Most of them I can't spell and some I can't pronounce right."

Her usually-light Southern accent turned a little deeper as she spoke this way. Steve sat back and listened as she rattled off a long list of… well, he wasn't really sure what all that might be. None of it sounded at all familiar to him, but from the way Doctor Banner's eyebrows shot up at some of it… That couldn't be good – not much shook that guy. The pen flew back and forth across the paper in the file, probably keeping up with her rapid-fire listing. Angel started getting a little shaky, relying more on the upright bed than her own spine. It felt like her lungs weren't opening up all the way when she tried to breathe.

"Okay, I don't usually say things like this," Doctor Banner prefaced, looking disgusted. "But whatever idiot prescribed Welbutrin, Prozac, AND Concerta at the same time needs to lose his license. That's enough to turn anybody's brain into Jell-O. And they said you were hallucinating what?"

Angel looked very on-the-spot, her eyes wide and semi-shallow breathing starting to speed up. Her gaze darted over to Steve and he saw her look hurt, even betrayed. Damn… he felt like once again, he'd been trying to help and gotten her into more trouble.

"I never said anything about hallucinating," she said defensively, not looking at either man.

Steve shifted guiltily in his seat and opened his mouth before Doctor Banner could say anything.

"They were only asking me questions because you weren't coherent," he told her, putting a hand on her arm. She felt terribly cold and still wouldn't look at him – he couldn't blame her. "They asked if you'd said or done anything unusual."

"Exhibiting erratic behavior's what we said," Doctor Banner chimed in with his deadpan way. "Needed to know if there had been mood swings or things like that – sometimes they can lead you to bigger problems."

Steve sat up a little bit, pulling back his end of the conversation.

"I only told them what I had seen and what you told me," he said, figuring he might as well just keep digging this hole. "I had no idea it would come to something like this."

Angel, still glaring daggers at everyone – Steve in particular, tilted her head and looked thoughtful.

"So how did SHIELD find out I was here and what do you want with me?" she asked, her gold-green eyes narrowing. "It took me about four days to get to New York."

Doctor Banner checked quickly through the file – oh, this was _not _going to be pleasant for anybody.

"Well, for one thing, two days after your missing persons report got filed, people started getting sick," he told her flatly. "Same symptoms as you, only the onset was a lot quicker and without the bouts of apparent recovery in between."

Angel looked instantly suspicious, tilting her head down so that her bangs obscured her face.

"What'd SHIELD want with a little outbreak of a chest bug?" she demanded, her voice catching in her throat like she might start coughing again. "I'm sure this kind of thing goes around in high schools all the time."

The doctor swallowed hard – even with years of practice, giving bad news never got any better. The red ink jumped out at him again, reminding him of her sodium levels. If they spiked again… He looked at the girl who sat in the hospital bed staring at him. Easier, yes – better, no.

"We don't really know why it just seemed to be a 'bug' with you for so long," he finally said. "By the time we estimate you got to New York, at least two people were dead and a handful more in the process of dying. It's almost funny you said the word 'outbreak'…"

Angel looked from Doctor Banner's slightly craggy face over to Steve, her expression turning from near-defiant to worried sick.

"Did I give it to them?" she asked softly, tearing up and gripping the corner of the blanket. It sounded like she couldn't breathe very well. "I didn't mean to, I swear! I didn't-"

Steve knew the deluge couldn't be held back for long, but he couldn't let her get hysterical. So he put a finger to her lips and shook his head for her to be quiet. Tears ran down her face again and both her hands balled up into fists. Doctor Banner ducked back into his charts, searching for the rest of the questions that needed answering. His hand went to his cell phone in his pocket, since Director Fury would need to be present for some of this.

"Hey, Doc, don't you think that's a little too much?" protested Steve, feeling the small girl shake under his hands. Her breath had taken on a raspy, wheezing quality that he didn't like at all. "She's scared enough as it is."

Banner frowned at the notes in his hand – he heard the wheezing sound too and it had him a little worried.

"Frankly, I'm a little bit more concerned about the hallucinations right now," he said, re-reading a line in his notes. "I don't see anything here about any of the other cases reporting hallucinations."

Angel's eyes, puffy and red from crying, had gone frighteningly wide, as though they had come across some deeply personal secret of hers. She shook her head and sat up, trying to dislodge Steve's hands. He kept the one on her back as she fought to stay upright on her own. The girl looked as though she might be considering making a dash. He couldn't let her hurt herself.

"Cap… please, let me sit up," Angel fussed, still propping herself up with her free arm. "Doctor Banner? Are my mom and dad all right?"

Banner nodded and informed her that they were in the protective custody of both SHIELD and the CDC in Atlanta.

"Unfortunately, though, I can't really tell you when you'll be able to go home," he did have to amend.

Angel looked more… sad than she did angry this time.

"That's not what I worried about," she said quietly. "I don't want to go home. I just want them to be okay."

Steve wouldn't let her shake his hand off.

"Can you at least tell me what's wrong with me?" Angel asked.

Doctor Banner sighed. He knew it would eventually come to this – the nursing staff had been dancing round it all week. He looked about and found a rolling stool over by the counter where Angel had broken the glad. After moving it over with his foot, he sat down heavily and looked down into his notes. Steve's brow furrowed – he didn't like what had to be coming. Angel looked anxious.

"Okay, it's like this," Doctor Banner began, scratching the back of his head. "Back during the Korean War, the American soldiers got exposed to some… pretty odd diseases."

Angel glared, but the coughing fit that ensued prevented her from saying whatever it was she had coming.

"Doc, please," Steve cut in, trying to help Angel steady herself. Blood leaked from her nose and mouth again. "Much as I love a good back-story, I think Angel might just appreciate the facts."

Angel looked up as best she could and nodded in affirmation.

"Okay, that works," Banner agreed, nodding and tracing one finger down a column in his file. "It's called Korean hemorrhagic fever. It doesn't sound all that complicated, but here's the thing: there isn't much information on it. Even back then, they had a hard time treating it. And after they pulled the troops out of Korea, all mention of it kind of fell off the map."

Steve's frown deepened. Angel still couldn't speak, coughing weakly over the side of her bed and spitting blood into the trash can. After a moment, she did manage to steady herself and sit back upright. Gently, Steve set his hand down over hers – was it him, or did she feel colder still?

"So, how did I get it?" Angel managed to croak out.

"I'm really glad we discontinued the sedative," Banner expressed, smiling in spite of himself. "You ask better questions than some of my oldest patients."

He let out an odd false cough that sounded a lot like "Fury."

"But to be honest, we don't technically _know_ that's what it is," he continued, flipping through his folder to another page. "Of all the information we've got, that's just what the most symptoms match up with. We don't know if the infection from way back when was bacterial or viral – no specimens made it."

Steve let Angel squeeze his hand – it wasn't very strong, and looked over at Doctor Banner.

"So, what are we looking at here?" he asked Angel's question for her.

Banner flipped to another page of notes.

"Well, we can use some of the same treatments from the front-line units in Korea for the symptoms of hemorrhagic fever," he didn't quite answer directly, his face cracking into a wry smile. "But that makes it pretty tricky to treat the dehydration from the gastroenteritis. Basically we have an unnamed, weirdly-untreatable… apparent superbug. Can I give you a name for it? No. There, an honest doctor."

Angel had to smile, sniffling and squeezing Steve's hand again.

"How did… everyone else get it?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "I mean… I've been getting sick like this since I was, like, thirteen and nobody around me has ever gotten it before."

Doctor Banner scratched his head and traced a highlighted line with one finger.

"My guess would be long-term, close exposure," he said, following the line with his eyes as if to extract some new detail. "And Cap here has an immune system Keith Richards would kill for."

Steve scrunched up his brow.

"Keith… Richards?" he asked, confused once more by a reference he didn't get.

Both Angel and Doctor Banner gave him a "never mind" look.

"But really, until we can nail this down, I'm sorry to say you're stuck with us," Banner told Angel. The look on her face said that she understood. "For now, we can treat the symptoms and run tests. Then we can see about fixing up the mess that's out there."

Steve looked over towards the corner and remembered what Doctor Banner had said the night Angel had been brought in. Sure the man was a hopeless pessimist, but how true would his doubts about her survival hold? He, Captain Steve Rogers, knew himself to be a bit silly when it came to things like this. And it made him hope just a bit more that she would be strong enough to make it. Angel tilted her head at Doctor Banner.

"Everything else aside… does this mean I can get some real pajamas now?" she asked, her voice sounding very tired. "And my bear… I don't think I can sleep for real without him."

Steve's eyes lit up and he rose from his chair.

"You know what?" he addressed her with Captain America's confidence back in his voice. She looked at him quizzically. "I'll be right back with those. I like a problem I can fix."


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **_**If you think anybody other than Angel Odell/anybody not Marvel is mine, then your brain is a bag full of cats. Geez… I don't even own that quote/paraphrase thing. If you don't like OC's, why the hell have you read this far? And if you do want to use Angel, please ask me nicely.**_

Chapter 6

As the number of deaths in the concentrated areas around I-95 climbed, the CDC found itself dealing with a new spread. Considering Miss Odell had been traveling with hippies, they were not in a good place to get ahead of it. These people rarely used anything like their real names. They moved in and out of their own little social circles and were mistrustful of authority. Trying to track any sort of movement almost compared to tagging sharks. One: good luck finding one that didn't fight back somehow. Two: have fun trying to find the same individual twice over.

With the reports coming in from farther and farther west, the staffs of both SHIELD and the CDC had issues with response processes. They hadn't had much success tracking individual carriers. Treating the symptoms seemed to be causing as much death as people who did not seek treatment. If they treated the gastroenteritis and resulting dehydration, people drowned internally. Treating the fever with saline administration caused dehydration to get worse. And if that didn't all come together to kill somebody, the bronchiole inflammations had a tendency to develop into early tuberculosis.

Alongside all this, while they had total certainty that the disease was contagious, they weren't entirely sure _how _it got spread. Person-to-person contact seemed essential at first, but a few of the cases in Missouri seemed to conflict. They hadn't yet isolated precisely _what _disease they were dealing with either. As a matter of fact, there wasn't really much _to _identify. If it were just one person, some of the doctors said, they would have thought it to be immune-related. These symptoms usually cropped up with things like rotaviruses and the bugs that swept elementary school classrooms. But for all of them to compound and kill perfectly healthy people seemed… unnatural.

* * *

Angel seemed much more comfortable in her own pajamas, along with the additions of her bear and blanket. It made Steve happy to be able to make her smile, but at the same time, he couldn't help being sad. The personal items made it look quite tragically like she would be there quite a while. With SHIELD being busy with the CDC, there had been no work for the Avengers. Steve had been able to spend a lot of time with Angel. At the moment, he had just looked up from his magazine at the sound of her moving.

She still had the needle attached to the IV in her left arm. Now her right arm bore a self-adhesive wrap holding another needle in place. She had insisted on bright green, wearing the color proudly. This one had a port on it and had already been used to draw blood for multiple tests. Steve was not a squeamish man, but he couldn't look at those drawing needles. Helping hold Angel steady while she yelled and cursed and tried to kick people didn't help. The staff had been instructed not to sedate her unless absolutely necessary. Director Fury insisted they needed her "not loopy" in case she had new information.

"Cap… I mean, Steve?" Angel's voice broke into his thoughts.

He looked up from his magazine and she tilted her head at him, her bear supporting her left arm.

"Sorry I bit you again when they put my port in…" she said in a raspy voice – she hadn't had water in a day or two, but she was smiling.

Steve grinned at her, honestly grateful to have a reason to smile.

"Don't worry about it, doll," he told her. A second later, a plastic cup flew at his head. "What was that for?!"

Angel glared, but her eyes still lit up.

"Don't call me 'doll'," she ordered, looking like if she could, she would fold her arms up and pout at him – she settled for just pouting. "Dolls freak me out."

Blue eyes lit up too and Steve couldn't help laughing – he never knew what she was going to say next!

"Okay, okay," he laughed, setting the magazine aside and shifting his chair closer to the bed. Looking at her in concern, he asked, "You warm enough?"

The girl shifted round in bed as best she could, unable to use her arms effectively without causing herself pain.

"I'm cold," she said flatly. At Steve's look of concern, she amended, "It's okay, though. I'm always cold."

He touched her hand again and, upon closer inspection, found that her skin had a blue, papery look and feel to it. This could not be good, but he decided it might alarm her if he pointed it out. Plus, she probably already knew. So he got up and went to the cabinet to see about one more blanket. There wasn't one that he could see, so he stuck his head out the door and flagged an intern. The young lady said she would be right back with one. Steve returned to Angel's bedside, her eyes looking up at him almost expectantly.

"She'll be back in just a minute," he told her, returning to his seat and taking Angel's hand.

The gold-green eyes just went wider still.

"Come sit with me?" she asked him, her soft voice a lot more timid than he had previously thought her capable of. Those eyes looked so haunting. "I'm so cold…"

He looked puzzled – hadn't he just said that the intern would be back with a blanket? But Angel lifted her left arm as best she could and gripped his sleeve with a shaking hand. As firmly as she could – which really wasn't saying much, she tugged on the sleeve, making soft whimpering sounds. Steve looked down at her, into those great pleading eyes, and understood. And it took all he had not to panic.

"Angel, I can't – I shouldn't," he started protesting, feeling like a big fat wuss knowing that he hadn't been able to say no to a lady yet. But he had to make one more attempt. "If you wait a minute, the intern said she'd be…"

"Please?" Angel cut him off, sniffling from being cold.

Fine tremors shook her entire tiny frame, her cheeks colorless and her lips dry and cracked. Steve felt caught between a rock and a hard place. He had already had to explain to what felt like most of SHIELD that nothing happened! It wouldn't have been appropriate! But when he looked at the way Angel stared up at him… She just looked so pitiful, but so determined. Letting out a sigh, he turned down the rail nearest him and sat down on her bed.

"Come here," here finally said quietly, leaning over and carefully taking her in his arms. She felt like she might be made of china, all her bones seemingly just there under her skin – he could feel them against his own body and hands. Before he could stop himself, he observed, "You're so small… No wonder you're cold."

He felt like a cad when she started to cry, but she shook her head to tell him it wasn't his fault – she had been holding it in too long.

"I'm really scared," she finally leaked out, her voice rattling in her throat in a way Steve really didn't like to think about. "I'm so sorry… I shouldn't be like this!"

Carefully, so as not to jar the needles in her arms, he held her closer. She turned her head and buried her face in his shirt. The bear slid out from under her arm and he returned it to its place gently. He could feel tears soaking in against his skin and it caused his chest to tighten painfully. Feeling her shake and cry, he ran one hand over her shoulder and upper arm, wishing he knew what to say.

"It's all right, I promise," he told her, holding her as tightly as he could without hurting her. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. It's okay to be scared… Heck, I've been scared half to death."

She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him – only a few tears could be seen streaking down her face, her eyes dry from dehydration.

"When?" she asked simply - her eyes went wider than he had ever seen them.

It was true he could only think of a few times he could remember letting himself be truly frightened, but most of those he couldn't actually tell her about.

"When I saw you get sick," he told her honestly.

Blinking, she tilted her head at him.

"How come?" she inquired, sounding genuinely curious.

In spite of himself, he smiled at her.

"I don't like seeing people in trouble and not being able to help them," he said, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Even if they keep telling me over and over that they don't need help…"

Angel blushed, the color returning in almost comical prominence to her face. She tried to respond, surely to say something snarky, but that wet tickle returned to her throat and she just coughed. Her body shook miserably against Steve's solid frame. He stroked her back, feeling her spine under his hand. The shaking turned violent as she tried to pull her arms in to wrap round her chest. She shrieked in pain and terror as the needles stabbed at her.

"What's wrong with her?" gasped the intern who had just appeared with a second white hospital blanket. She paused just long enough to look at Steve and Angel. "And why…"

"Go get Doctor Banner right now!" Steve commanded sharply, not moving or letting go of the girl in his arms. The young lady simply stood there with the blanket, dumbfounded, causing him to add, "That's an order!"

Dropping the blanket, the intern turned and ran from the room. He could hear her take off down the hallway and the alarm to summon Banner. Sighing, he knew that he had more explaining to do, but he didn't care. Keeping Angel calm and safe took precedence, for once, over what looked proper. She had started making a horrible choking sound, so he tried to help her sit up. Kicking the wastebasket over where it needed to be, he waited for the inevitable.

This time, it never came.

"Angel?" he asked cautiously – Angel had doubled over the side of the bed with her arms stuck out at odd angles because of the needles. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Steve's neck went up. He had a terrible feeling in his gut and his tone turned urgent. "Angel, I need you to tell me something – anything, just respond to me."

He heard a gurgling sound, unsure if it had actually been a response or not, but the sound of hurrying in the hall covered any more noise she might make. Doctor Banner strode hurriedly into the room, followed by three nurses and the intern who'd been summoned over the blanket. Steve helped the male nurse (there were two ladies as well) get Angel back up into bed. Blood coursed from her nose and mouth as it had when this all started.

"Well, this looks… horrible," Banner deadpanned, handing the male nurse a box of tissues and watching Steve with an amused grimace. "Cap, since you're always around for these disasters, you care to tell me what happened now?"

Steve frowned at the doctor – in the back of his mind, he knew this was just how the guy dealt with things to keep from going nuts.

"I don't like the implication there, Doc," he said calmly, making perfectly sure to keep his tone civil. "She was cold, asked me to hold her; I figured no problem in obliging her. Then she started that cough again and this time, instead of… doing what she usually does… she just didn't get up."

Angel lay disturbingly still on her pillow. For as long as he had known her, Steve couldn't think that he had actually seen her stop moving. He didn't like how it looked, so he reached out and set her bear back under her left arm. That did help just a little bit. The machine she had been hooked up to for about as long as she had been in bed was the only indicator she continued breathing at all.

"I see," said the doctor, taking the file that one of the lady nurses handed him. "Well, honestly… this is probably healthier for her than spewing vomit and/or blood again. Easier, at any rate…"

The other lady nurse removed a kit from a nearby cabinet and approached Angel's bedside. Steve took a wide step back and averted his eyes as she stuck a large syringe into the port and drew a generous amount of blood. She exited the room and headed over to the centrifuge. The male nurse checked something having to do with the IV drip and looked at the bed chart. He motioned to Doctor Banner and the two of them compared notes. Once he was sure they weren't doing things with needles again, Steve approached.

"So, what was this one for?" he asked, gesturing at the port in Angel's arm. "You guys haven't exactly been clear about what you're taking all this blood for."

Banner sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"Some of the CDC's top staff thinks there may be a way to derive a treatment of some sort from whatever's in her blood," he explained, still studying the file the nurse had handed him. "No success so far, but we took most of those samples while she was in one of those 'apparent recovery' stages."

Steve's frown deepened again – he didn't like how that sounded at all.

"You're not _letting _her stay sick, are you?" he demanded, drawing himself up to his full and not-unimpressive height. "Because it does occur to me that I haven't seen your people do much to _treat _her."

The way Banner sighed again, it sounded like he had known this round of questioning had not been long in coming.

"Hey, Cap, what you need to understand is that this is out of my hands," he began. This time he handed Steve the file. "One, we _have _been treating her. It's a pretty delicate balance, actually. The saline has to be exactly right to keep her from drowning in her own body. But the directive from the CDC says that we have to keep all routes open to a way to treat everybody else. We're looking at a shit-storm comparable to the Spanish Flu in 1918. And at least they _knew _what that was – if it happened today, we'd have it treated in no time. This – we don't even have a name for this."

Steve understood what the doctor had to say, but his face still darkened in anger – he looked at the girl, motionless in her bed.

"… just tell me you won't let her die," he commanded the doctor in a hard voice. Then he let his shoulders relax. "No… promise me."

Banner blinked at him.

"Okay, normally I wouldn't ask because I don't want to know," he prefaced, but continued anyway. Then he gestured at Angel. "What exactly… is this?"

For a moment, Steve only looked confused, but Howard Stark's constant references to 'fondue' pushed their way into his head.

"No!" he had to make himself not yell. Then he composed himself. "No, it's nothing like that. I happened to find her while I was out for a walk. Circumstances being what they were, I offered her some help. And when all this… sickness… started, I promised her that she would be all right."

The doctor actually seemed to understand this – he gave no indication of whether he agreed with it or not – and nodded.

"And you're a real promise-oriented guy, I gather," he remarked unnecessarily. Steve nodded, but Banner went on, "Well, you might want to find a way to square your mind up with this one. She quit being 'all right' a good while ago."

Steve had nothing to say to that, so he just sank back onto the edge of Angel's bed – Banner didn't comment. The super-soldier reached out and stroked the scruffy brown bangs away from the thin face. She had a steady nosebleed going, the slight incline of the bed letting it flow unobstructed. So, he turned, reached over for the tissues and started wiping her face clean. He refused to let it stain her pajamas – that would just upset her when she woke up. It really was disturbing, how she appeared not to be breathing.

The machine kept whirring though. Doctor Banner had done a quick explanation of what most of the gadgets were, just in case. Speaking of, the radiated genius excused himself. Said he had to go over this most recent development with Director Fury. If things were going properly with the centrifuge, they might actually have something to work with now. Sampling her while she was symptomatic could be just the right thing to do. Steve ignored the doctor's egress and wondered something briefly.

"Always made me feel better when I was a kid," he told her, not sure if she could even hear him, as he leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead. "It just helps to know someone cares, I guess."

Angel took an audible breath at the touch on her skin. Steve couldn't help smiling – for some reason, the sickly sound was better than silence. The small girl seemed to be close to actual sleep for a change. After that one, her breathing started to even out noticeably. She shifted almost indiscernibly, prompting Steve to help her adjust until she smiled in comfort. A small sound accompanied her shifting her arm to hold her bear closer.

"Angel, I don't know how much of what the doc said you could hear," he leaned in close and whispered. "But I promised you before and I meant it: you're going to be all right."

And he could have sworn he saw the corners of her lips turn up just a bit at that. Trying not to jar her port, he took hold of her right hand, smiling again when she squeezed it weakly. Her chest, not that he looked closely, had started to rise and fall evenly. How bad was it that it seemed the both of them had become used to the wet, rattling sound? Once he was sure that she had truly just gone to sleep, he disentangled his fingers from hers. She didn't stir as he rose from the chair by her bed.

"Doc?" he called down the hall as quietly as he could, stepping out of the room. "Doctor Banner?"

The gray-haired man appeared from round a corner at the end of the hall.

"Did something else happen?" he asked warily.

Steve nodded, but quickly opened his mouth to explain.

"I figured it was something you should know," he told the doctor, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "She just… went to sleep. Actual sleep – breathing evenly and everything… thought maybe you'd want to write that down."

Banner scratched his head.

"You know," he said enigmatically, smiling rather cautiously. "That… really is worth noting."


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **_**Seriously, please do not freaking sue me, since I'm right here telling you none of this is mine. Angel Odell is mine and so is the doggy character of Stitch. If you want to use them, please ask me. I'm more likely to let you use Angel – Stitch actually is based off my dog, so I know how he is.**_

Chapter 7

Angel had started to dream. She couldn't see very far in front of her – the blizzard raged round her and snow had her dazzled. Something inside her, though, kept driving her forward through the storm. Drifts of snow and ice almost reached her waist and she could hardly feel any of her body anymore. But onward she pushed, following the intangible force in her gut. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but she had a goal.

The wind stung her face and she bit down on her lip to keep her strength up. It seemed that even her hair hurt. No matter what, she had to keep going. In the back of her mind, something told her the place was called Sleetcold. She would have to cross the storm-battered wastes of this place to get… somewhere. Nothing she could fish out of her mind seemed able to tell her what it was that she moved towards. Just barely, she could tell her nose had started bleeding.

Pushing forward through Sleetcold felt like it could kill her.

* * *

"Director Fury?" the head of staff for the CDC's contingent in the small Georgia town answered her cell phone. "Excuse the lack of pleasantries…"

"No offense taken," the one-eyed man said quickly, of the same mind himself.

"So what have you got for me?" the staff head asked.

Fury looked over at Banner's back as he fiddled round with this and that beside the centrifuge. There had been a few reactions, a number of wordless vocalizations, staff coming in and out, and unanswered questions. The doctor seemed to be in a world of his own for the moment. However, one of the team's subordinate physicians had clued Director Fury in.

"It looks like Doctor Banner may have something for all of us real soon," he assured the lady on the other end of the phone. "That's all I have for just this second… Yes, ma'am – you'll be getting more information here shortly."

He shut the apparatus and pocketed it. Banner continued moving things around in tubes and pipettes. The subordinate physician had explained pretty much what was going on with the process. It turned out that, yes, they had needed the blood sample from when the Patient Zero had been symptomatic. However, what they had found in her blood had been anything but normal. They couldn't find a matching pathogen or virus anywhere in recorded medical history. If they didn't know better, they would have thought it to be alien.

But there still could be one hitch. The sample might only produce an effective serum against the bit of the disease that caused the inflamed bronchioles. They couldn't be sure of the effectiveness until they had a test group. And even then, there couldn't be widespread certainty that it would work on everyone. They'd probably have to sample her during each symptom display. Director Fury nodded, thinking he might see a pattern in how this disease worked. Like a screwy game of Rock-Paper-Scissors…

Treat one thing, and you could kill them with the other – and if you treated that one, you ran the risk of them dying from one of the remaining two.

Not to dwell on that, they ran up against another problem: there wasn't an ethical way to cause her to exhibit the other symptoms. In order to sample her while she was symptomatic, they would have to harm her. Either treat one symptom that would cause something else to flare up or stop treating her. No one in the medical profession could rightly make such a choice. And Director Fury could not compel anyone in SHIELD to issue an overriding directive.

Banner finally turned around.

"Well, I think this'll treat the people who currently _have _the symptoms of bronchitis," he informed everyone.

Director Fury sighed irritably and waited for the unspoken 'but.'

"We're not going to know if it works until we test it, obviously," Banner continued, still deliberately avoiding the oncoming unpleasantness. "But I've got… as much confidence as I can that it'll work in a significant number of cases."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, in no mood to dance round anymore.

"Doc, you have a 'but' the size of Niecy Nash's and you just can't help exercising that flair for the dramatic you've got," he grated out. "Now out with it: what kind of ethical breach are we looking at explaining to the CDC?"

The graying genius let his shoulders slump a little bit.

"I really wish you wouldn't make me say it," he said with the touch of irritation only Bruce Banner could pull off. "Because, Director, you know from what I already told you what I'm about to say: If we're going to treat the people who wind up in the early stages of tuberculosis…"

"You have to sample her in that condition," Fury finished for him. "And she's not there yet."

Heaving a weary sigh, Banner smiled oddly.

"It's times like this I wish you were just asking me to let the other guy break Manhattan again," he deadpanned.

* * *

Steve had returned to his apartment. The dog… Stitch… was just about beside himself – he was NOT used to only going out twice a day! And when was his Mama coming back? He danced round Steve's knees, nearly sending the man sprawling on the way to the couch. When the human collapsed back on the blue calico with a sigh, the dog joined him. A doggy grin spread ear to floppy ear as Steve rumpled the loose skin round his neck.

"I can see why she keeps you around, fella," Steve told the dog, earning a wagging backside that nearly upended his table lamp. Big gold eyes looked at him quizzically, as if to ask where the girl might be. The hand kept scratching and the human looked sad. "It'll be a while… but I promise she's coming back."

Reaching out with his free hand, Steve found the television remote control and switched on the set. It was still on the channel showing all the cartoons that Angel had been watching. Dang… It seemed a lot longer than it really had been that he had found her out in the park. A frightened teenage girl alone at night wouldn't have lasted long. For all the ribbing he had endured from the rest of SHIELD (and he really had come close to decking Stark)… No, he wouldn't decide differently if he could do the situation over.

He wasn't really a man to dwell on his feelings. Before he became Captain America, it had almost been a sign of weakness to him. And after… well, introspection didn't do a mind like his any favors. But in spite of himself, he got up and headed over to the book shelf on the other side of the room. The dog hopped down off the couch and followed. He reached up to the top shelf and took down an old Cracker Jack tin that Miss Potts had picked up for him. With that in hand, he returned to the couch, joined by his furry friend.

Inside the tin, he found some things he hadn't looked at in quite some time. First, he saw a photo of him standing with Dr. Erskine and Howard Stark… Agent Coulson's bloody Captain America trading cards… Then he found the object he had originally been looking for. The old brass compass had tarnished with time and he had never been able to bring himself to polish it. Flicking it open, he stared hollowly at the enigmatic smile facing him. Her picture was also black-and-white, but he could remember her particular shade of red lipstick.

"_But… I had a date."_

He had promised to be there. Logically, he knew the circumstances had been far and away beyond his control. Dr. Freedman with SHIELD's psych department had been over that with him quite a few times. Still… No matter how he tried to be logical, or rationalize it, or whatever, it still sat wrong with him. He had broken his promise and nothing could ever make that right.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, only half-aware the he did so aloud.

His fingers traced the picture carefully. Yes, he had broken his promise then… but what about now? What about Angel? What Banner said had gotten under his skin in a major way. Frankly, it made him want to ask the guy to step outside… But there was no way the guy could have known. Steve closed the compass slowly and put the items back in the tin. He had kept promising Angel that she would be all right. If that didn't happen, it would still be fine for her – her problems would be over.

How would it hit him, he finally thought, if she didn't make it?

But he didn't have time really to think about that as the dog leapt down off the couch and started dancing in circles. Steve smiled at Angel's little buddy and picked up the red bone she had told him to get out of her Mickey bag. Nothing killed a round of introspection like a decent game of fetch. Stitch, in his normal display of cabbage-like intelligence, missed the bone and hit the wall. Steve laughed in spite of himself and waited. Seconds later, he wrested the sticky red bone from the dog's mouth to toss it again.

* * *

Two halves of the same coin, a beautiful silver-blue eye and a flat, gray rotting eye blinked curiously. Their owner reclined on a dais that was half resplendent in luxurious furs and linens, half rickety and decrepit. Brown hair spilled to her hips, half of it shining and beautiful and half patchy with the texture of straw. The half her face covered in flesh glowed with beauty, the other rotting and gray. Hel, daughter of Loki and mistress of Sleetcold could sense a new arrival on the way.

Angel continued on through the blizzard. Tree branches ripped at her skin and caught in her hair. She fell several times, but the call of Sleetcold kept the very core of her chest alight with what felt like cold fire. Each time, she rose again and continued to push through the chaos. In the snowy forest, it was obvious that there had been a coating of branches on the ground for a long time. They kept giving out under her weight, making for slow, treacherous going.

She couldn't see the condition she laid upon the hospital bed in. Her skin had gone that same ghostly blue, papery way all over. And while she shivered uncontrollably like a beaten animal, she felt frightfully hot to the touch. The fever had returned with a vengeance. Unable to open her eyes, she tried to call for help, but the words that sounded coherent to her only emerged as faint sounds. Without even an intern in the room, there was no one to hear her. When no one responded, not even Steve, she started to cry.

Dehydration had taken its toll. Instead of leaking any tears at all, her eyes simply burned, but her chest still tightened and her breath caught in her throat. Were her eyes even open or closed? For some reason, she couldn't tell. The sounds of crying happened, but no one knew. She couldn't really even _feel _anything, not the blankets against her skin or even her bear under her arm. All she knew was the one thing she could feel… Nothing felt worse than crying all alone and knowing no one could hear you.

* * *

"Ah, come on – just this once," wheedled Steve, causing the red-haired intern to blush furiously.

"Captain, I'm sorry, but I said _no!_" she repeated, though he could almost hear her tone giving. "We could both get in a lot of trouble!"

"Whatever trouble you get in, I'll take responsibility," he tried again, tightening his grip. "You can always tell them it was a direct order."

The intern, whose name-tag said "Kate Sullivan", turned almost as red as her curly hair.

"No, no, no!" she protested. "I could lose my job and I can't blow these credits!"

"You know I won't let that happen," he told her, his voice promising. "Now please… For me?"

She shrugged her shoulders and sighed in exasperation.

"Oh fine… It's not like I ever wanted to be a doctor anyway," she groused, turning down the hallway. "But you keep this quiet."

Captain Steve Rogers agreed and smiled triumphantly as he followed Miss Sullivan down the hall. Stitch pulled on his leash, nervous as all hell about the strange, medical surroundings. It had been a crazy idea, but after seeing a couple minutes of Balto while channel flipping, it seemed like a good one. Maybe seeing her furry friend might help Angel at least lift her spirits a little bit, considering the girl hadn't seen daylight in over a week. He had to remember to take Miss Sullivan out for coffee in thanks.

For a dog weighing only sixty-five pounds, Stitch was a lot stronger than he looked, reminding Steve a bit of himself in the old days. Obviously, he couldn't do much against Captain America himself, but he sure tried! Steve wondered if it'd be better to just pick the dog up and carry him before he broke something. The sounds and smells of a medical facility didn't do much to ease his own anxieties, so it couldn't be helping Stitch.

They almost got caught trying to get onto an elevator – the dog still had to be dragged onto those things, even after a week with Steve. But the nurse had turned away and gone back the way she came just in time. For a man who stressed a careful plan of attack, Steve had really outdone himself. How had it seemed like a good idea to bring a dog in here? Then he thought of how happy Angel was bound to be at seeing her buddy. He yanked the dog out of the elevator and turned down the hallway to Angel's room.

"Do I even _want _to know?" asked a deep voice that had suddenly appeared behind them.

Steve _almost _jumped three feet in the air and yelled in surprise, but somehow miraculously managed not to. He whipped round to see a very disgruntled-looking Nick Fury standing behind him. The man's one working eye trailed back and forth between Steve's guilty face and the confused-looking dog. He crossed his leather-encased arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation. The dog just grinned, showing very white teeth, and wagged his tail. Steve flinched visibly at the dog's tail knocking over a metal wastebasket. It clanged to the floor, drawing the attention of three nurses. With quite a crowd assembled, Steve discovered that he might have finally gotten in over his head.

"Well… uh… Director, sir…" he started stammering, trying not to melt back into a 90-pound chicken wing. "… I can explain."

The normally-inscrutable Nick Fury's face clearly telegraphed that he seriously considered chewing the super-soldier a new one.

"You know what? Save it," he finally said, rolling his one eye skyward. He looked down at the dog trying to pull over and sniff him. "I'm sure I'll find out with the next calamity."

Feeling both relieved and very wrong-footed, Steve decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and beat a hasty retreat. Stitch seemed eager to go forward as well – probably he could smell Angel close by. They got to the door of her room and found it closed. When Steve knocked, he heard Doctor Banner's voice call "Come in!" and immediately felt in the wrong again. What the hell would the doctor do at seeing Steve show up with a dog? Looking around, he noticed that Miss Sullivan had disappeared entirely.

With no better alternatives in mind, he opened the door.

"Oh, good morn- Captain Rogers, what the hell is that!?" Banner started off his usual calm and collected self, but raised his voice in surprise. Steve could only stand there and look guilty. Stitch wagged his tail and smiled as only a large dog could. Banner blinked, hoping maybe the image would go away. "Well… Considering I really don't know how much worse this can get, why not? Just keep him away from the needle sites."

Steve let the dog approach Angel's bed, worried when she didn't move or look at them.

"Angel?" he tried to wake her, holding the dog off so he couldn't hurt anything and touching her shoulder with his free hand. "Angel, there's a friend here to see you."

His voice seemed to reach her, but she didn't open her eyes yet, simply turning her head away from them on her pillow. Smiling in a way he hadn't in many, many years, Steve carefully slid his hand against her cheek. Delicately, as if handling something breakable, he turned her face to him. Immediately, the dog set both paws up on her bed and licked her square in the nose. Angel squeaked in surprise and screwed her face up before her eyes shot wide open. Steve had to hold both her hands in one of his to keep her from swiping at her face. Stitch looked all kinds of pleased with himself!

"Buddy?" asked Angel, sounding incredibly confused. "Is… is that you?"

Steve smiled and held the dog's collar so he couldn't actually jump up in the bed with her. She couldn't quite get her arms up where she could actually pet him, so a little maneuvering helped. Blue eyes lit up tenderly as a thin, shaky hand found one soft, floppy ear. Stitch licked his mama's hand, still confused as to why he couldn't get up in bed with her. Finally, with a little pushing, Steve did manage to get the dog up onto the foot of the bed and make him stay there.

"Feeling a little better," he asked her, pushing the button to incline her bed up a bit. Angel nodded, not looking at him as she focused on scratching Stitch's ears. "I have to say, it's good to see you smile."

And she graced him with a smile that positively glowed out of her pale little face. Stitch sat up, causing Angel to make a noise at his ears being out of her reach, and licked Steve squarely in the face as well. He laughed and rumpled the dog's ears with his hand. Banner, who had stood silently by as all this went on, stepped closer to the bed with caution.

"Stitch, be nice," Angel warned the dog, who looked wary of the doctor's approach. "I promise you, he's just a big baby."

Banner had never really been an animal person, but he could see an immediate improvement in the girl's condition at the dog's presence. If it helped, he didn't see any problem with it. But there was still the issue of… Well, he didn't really want to think about that at the moment. There was still an epidemic out there that the CDC expected a reliable treatment for, and soon.

"Captain, can I speak with you a minute?"


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **_**Seriously. None of this is at all mine. Okay, Angel Odell is mine – if you want to use her, you may ask me nicely. Right now, all I have to call my own is a head cold.**_

Chapter 8

Deep in the heart of Sleetcold, the half-beautiful, half-rotting face furrowed both its brows in mild consternation. Well, that wasn't supposed to happen, she thought. No matter, the thought continued – a disease of Asgard would ensure the mortal body didn't last long anyway. Hel looked over into her viewing portal and watched the girl playing with the dog in her bed. Soon, it would have to be.

* * *

Steve followed Doctor Banner out of Angel's room, leaving a nurse to supervise Angel and Stitch. Somehow, he had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't like whatever it was the doctor had to say. And from the look on Banner's craggy, careworn face, it looked like he didn't look much forward to saying it. The door shut behind them and the nurse nodded through the glass at them. Banner led Steve a good few feet away from the door and let out a heavy sigh.

"Can we cut the drama and have the point please?" Steve asked, trying to keep the edge off his voice. These 'talk in private' situations had a tendency to turn dicey, fast. "I already know this is bound to be unpleasant."

Banner nodded.

"In theory, that does make this easier," he agreed, the ever-present file flipping open again. "So here's the thing: we made a breakthrough with the centrifuge and we have a treatment available."

For some reason, Steve knew this wasn't the point of the conversation, but had to keep his head on straight.

"That sounds like a good thing," he said evenly, keeping his tone neutral. Then he asked, "Why do I feel like you're about to drop the other shoe?"

Bruce scrubbed one hand across his face, looking like he hadn't slept for several days thinking about this.

"Well, honestly, because I am," he said flatly. "Now, let me go on-record saying this is not my idea – not my decision either. Here's the thing: we only got a viable treatment from the sample because we got it during one of her flare-ups."

Steve let this sink in.

"Okay… I understand," he told the doctor, his tone saying 'watch what you say from here on out.'

Banner heard the unspoken message loud and clear, feeling his head start to pound from the inside – not good…

"But… Yeah – you knew there was a 'but' here," the doctor continued, scratching his head. "There's only one way to treat people for the other symptoms: we need samples taken when she's… sick."

For the first time in a good while that he could remember, Captain Steve Rogers felt genuine rage welling up inside him.

"You'd better not be saying what I think you are," he threatened, stepping forward menacingly. "For God's sake, she's just a little girl…"

Doctor Banner took a step back, holding one hand up – he could hear the Other Guy in there and nobody needed that to happen.

"Captain, like I said, this is so far outside my control it's not even funny," he tried to placate the super-soldier. "But the fact is, a bunch of people out there are sick and, without what we can get from her, they're probably all gonna die."

Steve looked frankly stricken – he knew about making the sacrifice play, but he had never been in the position of _making _someone else do so.

"So… what's going to happen to her?" he finally asked, a note bordering on desperation in his voice. Then his conviction came back to him quite firmly. "You can't just let her die – there has to be something against that."

Banner nodded, but his face still hadn't changed.

"Cap, _everything _is against that – ethics, morals, human rights," he agreed, starting to pace back and forth nervously. "But this is a directive I can't go against or we're looking at so much death… The North American continent hasn't seen disease on this scale in the entire U. S. history."

Swallowing hard, Steve nodded as well – logically, it made too much sense, but it still made him sick at his stomach just thinking about it.

"Now, if it was just the disease progressing on its own and we sampled from that, I doubt this would be anywhere near as much of an issue," Banner continued, still pacing. "But the thing is, since we have the sample for one set of symptoms, we have to… induce the other sets."

This time, Steve bristled again, but he got a hold of himself and backed down.

"Are you at least going to tell her any of this?" he demanded, his blue eyes ablaze with anger. "She deserves to know what's happening to her."

Banner looked off down the hall in thought.

"Would you want to tell her?" he finally asked Captain Rogers.

That damned fatalism got under Steve's skin like nothing else!

"There's still a chance, isn't there – however remote it might be," he challenged the doctor. "Isn't there some chance that she might still get better?"

And Doctor Banner's shoulders fell once more.

"That's another thing that just goes against any training everyone in the medical profession has," he told Steve. "To get the symptoms we need to sample to come up… Eventually we'll have to stop treating her."

That was it – Steve had to just walk away to keep himself from punching the doctor square in the jaw. Okay, no. Getting aggressive wouldn't help anybody, but he definitely had something to say about this. He continued down the hall, causing nurses, staff, and interns to practically jump out of his way. Only one person would even possibly have the information he needed now. But Director Fury had this tendency of disappearing just when one wanted him.

* * *

With Stitch curled up at the foot of her bed, Angel had gone back to sleep. She hadn't been asleep for very long when her nose started to bleed again. Out of it, she didn't notice. Inside, she could feel herself falling again. Was it her, or did she suddenly feel extremely cold wind on her skin? She coughed in her sleep, not waking the dog. Why could she see black tree branches? Hadn't she just gone to sleep – when and how did she wind up in this place?

The nurse, seeing the girl go back to sleep on her own, notated this on the chart and left. She didn't stay long enough to see the nosebleed start. Nor did she hear the shallow, rattling breaths. And she certainly didn't hear the heart monitor slow down dangerously. It wasn't her fault that all she could think about was going on a small coffee break. Oh wow, and she really didn't want to know what had Doctor Banner and Captain Rogers looking so steamed! So she continued down the hall.

Angel, however, knew none of this. She could only feel the cold – cold wind stinging her face, icy branches on her skin, and snow soaking her clothes. When had she started to cry again? The last she remembered, her eyes couldn't even make tears anymore… But it didn't matter – she just had to keep going forward, Sleetcold summoning her on. It might be her imagination, but she could swear she heard a voice calling out to her.

She lay so still that even the dog at the foot of her bed couldn't tell anything was wrong. Her nose continued to bleed, red trails streaming down her pale, thin face in stark relief. The slow, rattling breaths continued, their pace continuing to decline. Her hands had stopped shaking now that her body had all but run out of energy. Cold, cold – all she knew was the oppressive cold. Finally, some blood ran down the back of her nose and she choked loud enough to wake her little buddy.

Steve heard the dog barking, derailing his train of thought which mostly involved going and giving Director Fury and whoever else a piece of his mind. He turned on his heel and headed right back towards Angel's room. Banner's note-file went flying, the doctor yelling in protest as Steve sped by him. Two nurses flattened themselves against the wall to, well, avoid getting flattened. The barking got louder, almost as if Stitch were _trying _to get someone's attention. Forgetting about everything else, the super-soldier jetted straight to Angel's room and almost tore the door off its hinges.

He had no idea what any of these machines did, but at the blood staining the area of Angel's pillow immediately round he her head, he did all he could.

"SOMEBODY GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!" he shouted in his loudest, most commanding voice. "I NEED EVERYBODY WHO CAN HELP!"

A couple of interns got there first, but they quickly hopped out of the way for three of the senior nurses. One of them shooed Steve out of the way and started checking Angel for everything under the sun. They all spoke back and forth in extremely fast techno-babble. Banner followed at a less rattled pace, hanging to the back of the room to keep himself calm. The Other Guy had shown a significant desire to tear Steve in half just a bit ago.

The machines had started to go crazy, but Angel's condition hadn't changed, blood still streaming from her nose and mouth. One of the nurses checked and announced that the machines had gone offline. Something seemed to be interfering with the system and there wasn't thing one they could do about it. Steve could just about tear his hair out! These were supposed to be the most educated, competent medical people in the world, weren't they? So what kind of infernal problem did they have now?

* * *

Angel continued on through the forests of Sleetcold. She stepped on frozen creeks, feeling the ice crack under her slight weight. The distant, forlorn voices of creatures in the dark reached her ears. They didn't sound like any animal she had ever been familiar with either… Some of the voices sounded eerily like human screams. Frightened, cold, and feeling very lost, she continued to push along, unsure where she might end up.

Watching closely in her viewing portal, Hel – mistress of Sleetcold – followed the small mortal girl's progress. She pulled up a second one to watch the proceedings in Midgard. As the girl's mortal body grew weaker, the image of her pushing through Sleetcold became more solid. Hel could see the other mortals crowded round her bed, trying to pull the soul back into her. However, Hel could not allow that to happen. The first mortal to die of an Asgardian disease – she couldn't pass that up for her collection.

The small, thin girl pushed past icy branches and finally found something resembling a path. Hardly more than a trail traversed by small animals, she found herself almost too wide for it. Every muscle in her tiny body ached, but nothing in her even thought about slowing down. Something out there in Sleetcold kept calling her on. Now she had a direction, where before it felt an awful lot like wandering round in circles. For some reason, the snow seemed to be letting up now…

As she pulled more strength into her soul to keep going through the woods, more blood streamed from her nose and mouth. The machines in her room continued to whirr and beep. One made a rather horrible clunking noise and shorted out entirely. Another fizzed and exploded, sending the medical staff diving out of the way. Even Doctor Banner had to admit this was outside what even he saw on a regular basis. Almost absent-mindedly, he reached into a drawer for a pair of tweezers. One of the interns had a piece of plastic lodged in her hand from shielding her face.

"Nice, exploding monitors," he grumbled, picking the bit of plastic out and slapping a Band-Aid on the young lady's hand. "What next? No, no… Don't anybody answer that."

The intern scrambled out of the room, looking ill. Banner followed where her gaze had been and looked slightly taken aback as well. Angel's eyes were still closed, but now blood leaked from her tear ducts. Two of the nurses had outright backed away. One brave soul stepped forward and attempted to rouse the girl back to consciousness. She did manage to get Angel sitting up, but leapt back at the explosion of blood from the girl's nostrils.

"Help," croaked Angel, opening her eyes and casting about for help – she caught Steve's gaze. Her entire body shook violently. "Please… help me."

Steve nodded and half-excused, half-shoved his way through the assembled medical staff. He sat back on Angel's bed and eased her as carefully as he could into his arms, unsure of how to help. But she seemed to calm at his touch. Eerily still bleeding from her eyes, nose, and mouth, she stared up at him, her gaze so pleading it almost physically hurt him. What could he reasonably do for her in this condition?

The part of her in the forest of Sleetcold continued to push forward – Angel could feel the peculiar sensation of trying to leave her own body. She could still see Steve's face, but it was like looking at him through frosted glass. All of a sudden, she could feel the needles in her arms in stark relief. She started shifting around, trying to make the uncomfortable sensations stop. Very vaguely, she found herself aware of crazed electronic sounds. All the pieces started to add up in her head…

"Get them out of me," she pleaded, her eyes up towards Steve's but clearly not seeing his face. "Please… for the love of God, get them out of me! They hurt!"

For a second, Steve wondered what she might be talking about, but then he noticed how fiercely she tried to move her arms. A terrible feeling twisted his guts up into all kinds of tangled-up knots. Angel squirmed weakly in his hold, trying to find the right angle to pull out one needle without jarring the other. On instinct, he held her still, though his mind told him it was pointless. The same puzzle in Angel's head had started coming together in his.

"Doc… Can you take those things out?" He indicated the IV entry and the sample port. "Please… she's not going to…"

He couldn't finish, but everyone in the room had the same unmistakable feeling.

"But we still…" Banner tried to start. Then he seemed to think better of what he had been about to say at the look on Rogers's face. "You know… that probably is the best idea right now. Hold her still."

Steve did just that, sliding one arm around Angel's upper body and holding her closer than he would have previously thought decent. The tiny girl let out what would have been a scream when Banner pulled the sample port out. Her legs twitched as if she wanted to kick something but hadn't the strength. For some reason, this made Steve smile – she really did have some kind of spirit! He shifted her round so that Banner could remove the IV drip. She yelped again when he placed gauze and Band-Aids on the needle sites.

Angel immediately curled both arms in close to her chest, clutching her bear and staring up at Steve with shining eyes. Even with blood still trailing down her face, Steve couldn't help noticing their striking color. A thin film of sweat coated her forehead. Her body continued to shake, but she reached one hand up and gripped Steve's shirt. Steve himself wound up at a loss – he had never been in a position like this before…

"Steve?" Angel's small, wavering voice reached his ears. "It's gonna sound weird but… can I ask you something?"

Still smiling oddly, Steve nodded.

"Angel, you can ask me anything you want," he told her, shifting her up closer so he could hear her better.

Those pale, thin cheeks turned ghostly pink for a moment.

"Promise you won't think I'm crazy?" she asked, this time speaking almost directly into her bear's ear.

Again, he nodded, hoping to God his smile looked genuine – he could feel his guts twisting like cobras and his heart hammering on his ribs.

"Promise…"

It took her a moment to get the next part out.

"Then… um… Could you…" she started, her voice petering off at first. "Well… thing is… I've… uh… never… And now I'm…"

She stared up at him again, begging him with her eyes to fill in the blanks so she wouldn't have to say it. Steve had never been the best at things like this, but the general gist of it had started to dawn on him. This time, he could feel that his smile was genuine. He held her up just a little closer and leaned down.

"I told you… you can ask me anything," he reminded her.

Angel knew she didn't have much time before she lost her nerve along with everything else – for some reason, though, she still couldn't look at him.

"I don't want to… Not without…" She couldn't finish the thought, her lips forming the smallest of pouts. Finally, she took as deep a breath as she could and let it all out in a blithering string of words. "Could you maybe so I don't… you know?"

It took a lot to make Captain Steve Rogers blink that way – his eyes burned in a way he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"Angel…" he said her name to make sure he had this right. He looked down into those golden-green eyes. "Are you asking me to kiss you?"

This time, she blushed to the roots of her hair – he couldn't see that for long because she hid her face against her bear, making a squeaky noise. It sounded like a 'yes' but something told him to make her say it. He tugged playfully on that sable-brown braid. Angel lifted her head as best she could, her breathing gone shallow and harsh.

"Please?" she managed, smiling shyly.

Steve felt everything inside him start to hurt, but somehow he smiled at her, for once letting himself act on instinct. Lifting her up closer, he inclined his head and paused for a second before allowing his lips to touch hers gently. Propriety didn't matter – she hadn't asked for much. Angel froze against him at first and he wondered if she regretted asking at all. But before he could pull back and try to run damage control, she pressed up against him. Carefully, making sure to keep it chaste, he pulled her close one more time and helped her let go.

"That… was like a Disney-movie kiss," she whispered, looking more than slightly dazzled. Her smile shone out of her pale face. "Thank you…"

He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, almost certain he had started to blush a little himself. Blood still streaked its way down Angel's face and, though she still smiled, she started to shake again. Everything in Steve's being told him that this was it… The tiny girl's body curled in on itself. He couldn't tell what she might be trying to say – she seemed to be talking to her bear. His arms tightened around her as he felt his chest go tight inside. All of a sudden, she pushed the bear as far away from her as she could.

"Steve…" she whispered.

Whatever she might have been about to say got lost as her entire torso clenched and she vomited an immense amount of blood. Steve stared in horror, not having either the time or desire to attempt shielding himself. Angel shook terribly, clutching Steve's bloody shirt. He looked down into her hollow, bleeding eyes, feeling in his gut how terribly she must be suffering. With one hand, he stroked her cheek – he knew what she needed to hear.

"If it hurts, let go," he told her, holding her just as close as he had done a moment before.

Angel stared up at him, her eyes understanding him. Her hand released its iron grip on his shirt and fell limp on her own chest. Those golden-green eyes closed and she let out a long, harsh, blood-soaked breath. Steve watched, motionless and horrified, as her head dropped back. The tiny body went totally still and limp in his arms. He looked around at everyone; begging, hoping… _wishing _someone could do something.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **_**I am going to be ILL if I have to tell y'all one more time that NONE of this stuff is mine! Is it legally okay if I just put in the prologue/first chapter of my next fic that none of the copyrighted stuff belongs to me? Because I really don't do witty disclaimers (You should check out Alicia Blade for those) and I'm quite tired of finding infinitely different ways to say the exact same thing. I'm starting to feel like a politician. STINKY!**_

Chapter 9

Angel had finally come to a gate in the wood – the voice in Sleetcold took its hold on her and she had followed it as far as she could. The giant gate, made of cold metal, swung open slowly with a great awful clanking sound. She took a few tentative steps forward. Softly, eerily, the floating voice called her to come f forward and as such she could hardly tell it no. As if outside her control, her feet began to walk towards the voice.

"What is this place?" she asked no one in particular, unsure if she spoke aloud or not and uncaring if anyone actually heard her. "Where am I?"

She continued forward, the path turning from snow and rocks and broken branches to one of hewn stone. All of a sudden, Angel came to the realization that she had no shoes on. No wonder she couldn't feel her feet! She looked down to see them all scraped and cut and bleeding. The few footprints she had left on the stone were bloody. Looking herself over, she discovered that her appearance had changed dramatically.

Surely she had been wearing her lavender pajamas just a little bit ago, hadn't she? Yes, she could swear it! But now, she found herself in a thin shift-looking thing that looked like it had once been white. It also sported bloodstains, plus quite a few rips and tears. The hem may as well have never existed, dripping with frayed-off threads. Angel assessed her situation and decided that she had never looked more like a zombie in her life.

But that thought took a very immediate back seat as the voice of Sleetcold found its way back into her ears. She could now tell that it was clearly a woman's voice, one sweet and low. The irresistible tone wrapped its way round every one of her senses. Angel forgot about the cold and the pain, continuing on the hewn path that had started to look intensely pretty to her. Oddly, equilibrium all but left her as she went along. So she wavered back and forth, flitting along the path like some sort of otherworldly being.

The voice continued to take over her consciousness, bringing her further and further down the path. Hewn stone became black marble, the smooth stone cold against her bare feet and thankfully not showing bloodstains. Angel looked round, taking in the gloomy but palatial surroundings. Thoughts other than following the voice leaked away from her head.

Hel could feel the small mortal's soul getting closer. She had seen the explosion of blood all over the soldier-man in the hospital room. It had been rather desperately endearing to watch the girl protect her toy at the very end. There in the viewing pool, she watched the super-soldier and the aftermath. The big, strong man actually looked quite traumatized by it all… That surprised her – she thought he'd have been made of sterner stuff than that. Even with the medical staff surrounding him, he refused to let go of the tiny body.

Steve had seen death before. He had lost one of his best friends back all those years – even though that did end up sorting itself out. But he had never experienced something like this. Matter of fact, he found himself still in shock. Angel was just a little girl in his eyes… How had he just held her in his arms and felt the life leave her body? It didn't seem possible. No… she was just having another symptomatic episode! That's what Doctor Banner would say in just a minute, right?

Banner himself approached the two of him once he felt sure Angel wasn't going to start spewing blood again. Steve blanched as he reached for the girl, but allowed him to check her pulse and eyes. The two men exchanged looks.

"Captain Rogers… I…" he began, his voice almost faltering before he caught himself. "There's really nothing…"

The doctor's voice trailed off – he had given that news before, but the look on Cap's face just gave him pause this time. He backed away a bit, unable to find words for the situation at hand. Thankfully, he did realize that now wouldn't be a good time to lament the loss of the symptom/sample/treatment source. But really… what were they going to do now? They couldn't derive an effective treatment for the other two symptom sets without her. His mind started working in overdrive, contemplating the possibility of only treating one symptom set. If that worked, maybe the gastroenteritis and bronchitis would… No, they'd probably still kill people.

Meanwhile, the super-soldier still had issues processing what had just happened. His brain rejected Banner's clumsy attempt at saying there was nothing left to be done for her. This couldn't be possible… She would get up soon – it had been the pattern this entire time! He looked down the length of the bed and found her bear beside her knees where she had pitched it. Shifting Angel's small form to one arm, he reached down to retrieve the stuffed toy. It looked a lot more loved and worn when he looked at it up-close. Instinct told him to settle the bear in her arms, but he thought better of it. If she awoke and found blood on her beloved bear, it would upset her deeply.

"Angel, come on," he whispered down to her pale, motionless face. "Please… wake up – you always do. Wake up for me…"

He felt as if something inside of him had… not broken, but maybe cracked just a little bit. His brain just wouldn't make the connection. Angel wouldn't wake up, and he knew that logically, he thought. He had just told her it was okay to let go, hadn't he? Looking down at the worn stuffed toy in his hand, he blinked slowly and let his mind go totally blank. His eyes kept tricking him, thinking that she might have just shifted or blinked or something.

She hadn't.

Hel continued to send her voice out through Sleetcold and watched the mortal girl follow it along the corridors. She had fought the Asgardian disease remarkably well right to the end. The Mistress of Sleetcold cast an eye over toward the viewing portal. Still in shock apparently, the super-soldier cradled the lifeless mortal body on one arm, holding a small brown bear in his other hand. Even in her state of perpetual resentment and immortal unconcern, Hel could not help but feel a twinge of pity for the man.

The mortal girl's soul continued towards the source of the voice and, finally, she saw a set of gigantic doors up ahead. Her first urge was to run down the corridor and burst through those doors. Immediately, though, something else stamped down on that urge and she felt overwhelmingly suspicious. However, she knew that whatever she knew herself to be looking for would be on the other side. From the room beyond, the voice continued to call her. She advanced until the doors were so close she could touch them.

But did she _really _want to? She had to think very, very carefully for once in her seventeen-almost-eighteen years. Had it been that long already? Her mind went blank and she reached out, almost zombie-like, for the door handle. In a blink, though, her faculties returned to her and she snatched her hand back. For a moment, she studied the door as if it might explode or catch fire or something.

_What is this place? _Angel wanted to say, but something in her throat seemed to have shut itself. The little chords in there simply refused to move. Clacking her jaws together as she tended to do out of nerves didn't make a sound either. Okay, this had all of a sudden gotten way more unnerving than it had even been to start with – and that was saying something! Something in the back of her mind pushed her again to try opening in the door.

"_Open it…" _prodded the mysterious voice from nowhere.

She wanted to – even knew that she all but _should_! But, something else in her, probably that latent self-preservation instinct, told her to think about it. Whatever else happened, once she opened that door, there could be no going back. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any way to get back out through the corridors either. All of a sudden, the memory of the way she had come had gone extremely fuzzy. Angel knew, somehow, that if she tried to go back that way, it would end very, very badly.

So she took a deep breath. Now _that_ felt strange, taking a deep breath and _not _feeling the rush of air filling her lungs… Something odd and disturbing had taken a hold on her mind – a drilling, inescapable thought. It couldn't be! Could it? She stared at the door as if trying to see through it. Soft, gray light came through the keyhole and drove the point home – could she be… dead? In the back of her mind, it registered with her that she had not expected this. Charlie had a much easier time of it, she decided.

"_Open it, I said," _the voice insisted, speaking right into Angel's head and shutting out her own thoughts. _"I have been… waiting for you."_

Back in the SHIELD medical facility, everything had been quiet for a good long while. No one seemed to be able to say anything to Captain Rogers, least of all Doctor Banner. From the looks of things, it looked like nobody wanted very much to try. He still cradled Angel very close to his chest, as though that might do something for her. Her blood had gotten very sticky and cold against his chest, having soaked very quickly through his shirt. For some reason, he just couldn't shake the thought that those green eyes would pop back open any second.

Hel found herself losing patience. When it became clear that the mortal would not open the door of her own accord, it finally started to move on its own. Angel took a wide step back so as not to get hit by the giant slab of iron. She shielded her face, blinking in pain and confusion as the light from within stung her eyes. Finally, tentatively, she stepped into the great hall in front of her… and nearly fell to her knees at the sight she beheld.

The entire place looked to be made of frosted gray glass and cold iron. She looked round to see the most depressing thing ever. People, old and injured and sick, sat about the great hall on either thin cushions or small stools. Angel felt like a rock encased in ice had just dropped from her throat into her stomach. A wave of devastating sadness overtook her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up, burst into tears, and never stop crying. But, for some reason, she could only stand, transfixed, as she saw the dais at the far end of the room.

Angel had seen some strange things in her young life, most of which had been hallucinations, but nothing compared to this. A woman sat on a throne upon the dais, but not one like any woman Angel had ever seen before. This… person… looked as if she had been split right down the center of her body. Facing her head-on, the side that Angel saw on the left had beautiful features: an icy, clear eye that drew one's gaze to a shapely nose and full lips. That same side had an impressive hourglass figure and milk-white skin. The other side, though…

Even her worst nightmares and most terrifying hallucinations had not prepared her for something like this. Where the left side had a beautiful shape and lovely features, the right side looked like an ad for death. Tattered, gray skin clung to bones that lay exposed in some places. Where there should have been a waistline, the skin stretched between ribs and hip like a drum. And nothing ever could make someone ready for a face like that. There was no eye in the socket, just a shriveled, perpetually-closed lid. Angel could see teeth through the split skin of the cheek, lips curling back dryly from the eerie smile.

Instead of wanting to run screaming into the night, anything to get away from this… woman, Angel took a curious step forward.

"You have spirit, mortal," the woman said in a rich, mellifluous voice. "Approach and present yourself to Hel, Mistress of Sleetcold."

For the next few seconds, Angel could only blink and gape like a goldfish.

"Um… Okay," she finally said, stumbling forward. "Wait… what'd you say your name was, ma'am?"

Hel decided to ignore this disrespect for the moment – the little insect simply didn't know any better.

"My name is Hel, daughter of Loki and Queen of the Underworld," she introduced herself once more. "And you are a rarity among mortal spirits."

Angel blinked and looked round again before pinching herself very hard – it didn't hurt, but it occurred to her that nothing did anymore. She only felt vaguely tired, as though she had been exercising strenuously two days ago. Her muscles had this heavy sensation to them. But then, she tilted her head, seeing something shiny beside the woman who called herself Hel. It looked like a mirror at first, but it had a different image than a reflection in it.

"Can I ask what's so special about me?" the mortal girl asked in her blunt way, causing Hel to smile benevolently.

"You are the first mortal to die of an Asgardian disease," the woman told her, making a sweeping gesture around the dismal hall. "Sleetcold is where mortals who do not die with the valiant in battle spend their afterlife. Those who are casualties, or die by accident or from disease and old age… They are my subjects."

Angel looked over the occupants of the hall. Yes, it did occur to her very suddenly that there was no one here who looked happy or healthy. The way she had been raised, heaven was supposed to be a glorious, joyous place. Well, further proof that their loony religion had been wrong, she thought. She tried to swallow hard, but the sensation that should have been there was not. It seemed that Sleetcold wasn't a painful place. It wasn't like the Hell she had been taught, not a place of punishment. But certainly this couldn't be a place of reward either.

"So… did I do something wrong to get here?" she asked, still fishing for some sort of explanation.

Hel shook her head, causing the mix of beautiful brown hair plus caked, dead strands to ripple down her back.

"No, dear," she said, still in that fond, indulgent tone – sounded as though she might be speaking to a neighbor's precocious child. "The All-Father Odin simply does not value as high the souls of those who do not die in battle. I, on the other hand, find the vast methods of mortal extermination fascinating."

Angel stared at this woman like she might something very dangerous, like explosives or her best friend before 8 AM. Hel looked the small mortal up and down like a fine piece of art. Yes, this would certainly be a lovely addition to her collection, like the one who kept blasting himself with cannon balls. Odin wouldn't take him, so she snapped him up right away. She had a special place in her iron palace for the souls of her collection.

"It is time for you to take your place in my collection, mortal," she informed Angel, pointing imperiously to a corridor at the side of the hall. "My attendants will see to your care."

Looking blank and stunned at the same time, Angel turned and followed Hel's pointing finger. A very muscular man with the head of a sheep stood beside the door, holding it open in as dignified a manner as he could. Normally, Angel would have something snarky to say at this, but her mouth had gone dry. She found herself drifting over to the sheep-man's door. He remained silent, but bowed her in and escorted her down the corridor. The door swung closed behind them, but made no sound.

Hel sat back on her dais and returned to her viewing portal with some amusement. In a moment, the mortal's spirit would be roomed in her collection and the man could let go of her body. But that didn't seem to be happening right away. A chill had entered the hall, one stronger than usual. A second later, the great iron doors swung open. The occupants of the hall dropped from their seats and genuflected to the newcomer.

"Father!" exclaimed Hel, rising from her throne with a macabre smile that she simply couldn't help. "What occasion brings you to the realm of Sleetcold, Father?"

Resplendent in golden armor and emerald-green cloak, the figure of Loki strode forward into the hallway, barely acknowledging the occupants. He smiled easily and extended his arms. His daughter descended the steps and rushed forward to embrace him. After a moment, he stepped back to view her at length.

"Daughter, you grow more beautiful each time I see you," he told her, a tone of joy rarely heard in his voice. "Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter? However, it does regard your collection - I wish to see your new addition."

A slight frown stole across Hel's face.

"Father, these visits seem never to bode well for me," she said easily, as though this had happened before. "Are you sure this does not involve you angering the All-Father or my honored uncle again?"

A grin that made Loki's upper lip disappear lit his countenance and he actually laughed.

"No, of course not, dearest!" he exclaimed, draping his arm round her shoulders and escorting her back to the dais. A large man with the head of a horse set up another seat for the God of Mischief. Loki seated his daughter before taking his own place. "I simply wish to see this mortal spirit that has brought you so much joy!"

Hel smiled genuinely this time – it seemed only her father could look directly upon this expression.

"Well Father, why didn't you say so?" she laughed, lifting her hands and clapping them sharply. The horse-headed man appeared and dropped to his knee. "Retrieve the mortal who died of the Asgardian disease for my father wishes to see her!"

The horse-headed man bowed, got up, and trotted from the great iron hall. He caught up with the sheep-headed man and Angel quickly. The two of them exchanged a sort of silent communication that scared Angel quite badly. Before she really knew what was going on, she found herself following the two of them back up the corridor she and her guide had just come down. While the man with the horse head opened the door, the sheep-man ushered her in. Hel had resumed her seat on the dais, joined by a man instantly familiar to Angel.

"I know you!" she blurted out, pointing at him.

Loki simply watched the mortal shout at him in amusement.

"And I know you, mortal," he fired back, his smile turning very dangerous. "For a time sufficient to amuse a god, I have known you."

Angel felt very dirty all of a sudden and wanted to go hop in a Loki-free shower.

"You've been sending me dreams too," she continued accusingly. "A giant snake… An eight-legged horse… A great big wolf…"

The grin widened, chilling Angel to what remained that she could feel of her core.

"Yes, and now you meet the most beloved of my children," he informed her, gesturing at Hel, who drew herself up proudly. "It is because of this that I visit her here in Sleetcold."

Hel frowned again.

"Father, you said…"

He silenced her with a hand held up, but he did not stop smiling.

"You see, my dearest daughter," he started gently. "You must throw this one back."

The half-beautiful, half-rotten frown deepened.

"Oh, but Father," she wheedled, only half-serious though. "It would be a lovely addition to my collection – the first mortal _ever _to die of a disease of Asgard!"

Loki smiled.

"Yes, but this one is simply too much _fun._"


End file.
